


Anything

by StarWitness42



Series: Anything Verse [1]
Category: Shadowhunters (TV)
Genre: M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-11-30
Updated: 2016-12-08
Packaged: 2018-09-03 08:33:11
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 8
Words: 36,159
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/8705200
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/StarWitness42/pseuds/StarWitness42
Summary: Magnus would do anything for Alec, and Alec doesn't know what to do with that.





	1. Anything

**Author's Note:**

> This is based on the various season two trailers, so there be spoilers here!

“I would do anything for you, but I won’t risk your life.”

He hears the words, but they don’t sink in, not really. Nothing past the word _no_.

_I would do anything for you, but not this._

Alec would really like to point out the definition of the word _anything_ , but something about the look in Magnus’ eyes stops him in his tracks.

He pushes anyway, forces the issue in a different direction because he can’t help it. He’s not even sure what he’s saying anymore, but his rune is burning and Jace is in pain, the kind that’s coursing through _Alec’s_ veins, and he can’t think straight, so he pushes.

“What do you want from me?!” he yells. At Magnus. Which is something he apparently does now.

The reply comes back so coldly it’s a slap in the face.

“At the moment? Nothing.”

Anything.

Nothing.

That went downhill fast.

~*~

_I’ll just find another warlock to do it_ , he thinks as he storms out of the Institute. But as soon as the cold air hits his lungs he realizes one very important fact:

He doesn’t know any other warlocks.

And also, warlocks hate Shadowhunters. Maybe Magnus does, too. Maybe Magnus hates _him_. Which would just be his crappy luck. Yesterday he kissed him, asked him out for drinks, and today…

He goes to his mother because he’s out of ideas, but there’s a part of him that knows it’s not going to work. He’s banking on her love for Jace, the literal golden child of the Lightwood family, but he doesn’t properly factor in her own self-serving desires.

The Lightwoods can’t be seen as traitors. Not again. And she’d said it herself, right? One of our own has joined him?

_Our_ own. That’s funny when held up against the way she spits the words, “Jace is not your blood,” at him.

He is, though. She was the one who took him in, made him family. The one who encouraged him to take Jace as his parabatai. The one who said so many times Alec lost count: _Why can’t you be more like Jace_?

He’s not blood. He’s closer than that. But nobody seems to understand that and his veins are still burning with the fear coating every inch of the feeble connection he still has with Jace.

It’s slipping. _He’s_ slipping. And Alec really, _really_ needs something to punch.

~*~

He goes back to Magnus because he doesn’t know what else to do. At least that’s what he tells himself because it can’t be anything else. Not right now. Not when there’s a job to be done and Alec is the only one seemingly willing to do it. But he freezes when he catches sight of Magnus on the balcony, fluid movement, carefully contained power, and it’s like his heart just stops.

It’s doesn’t skip a beat. It _stops beating_. And suddenly Alec is at a loss for words again, at a loss for _thought_ , which is not exactly an uncommon occurrence around Magnus.

It’s like every time he looks at him, his brain just empties out completely, flushed clean so that all he sees is the light. The one that seems to shine inexplicably from inside of Magnus Bane, High Warlock of Brooklyn, even when he’s not doing a stitch of magic.

He had a plan. _You said you’d do anything for me_ , he was going to say. _You said you didn’t want to risk my life but this **is** risking my life. If he dies, I die, too_. But for some reason, the only words he has in his head right now are _I’m sorry_.

_I’m so, so **sorry**_.

He doesn’t know what they mean. Or, well, he knows what they _mean_ , technically, but he doesn’t know why they’re there. What he’s sorry for, other than his entire existence. But even if he can’t place the origin, he’s still overcome with the almost crushing urge to get on his hands and knees and beg Magnus to forgive him if that’s what it takes even though Shadowhunters don’t do that.

They don’t beg.

But he will. For this, _for him_ , apparently Alec _will._

~*~

Something sinks inside of Alec when Magnus sees him and reaches for a shirt like he needs something there, a wall between them when forty-eight hours ago everything was open doors and promise. And it’s actually difficult for him to remember what Magnus’ smile looks like as he sputters through an explanation that might as well be complete gibberish right now.

Magnus knows it all already. Jace is missing. Jace is my brother. I’m dying inside without him. He went with Valentine for me, for us, _for me_ and I can’t let that stand. I can’t let someone else die when I’m standing here living and there’s pain in Magnus’ eyes the likes of which Alec has never seen as he stares up at him and patiently listens to every half-formed thought that spills from his lips.

He scratches at the balcony when it’s Magnus’ turn to talk, locks his eyes on his own fingers, clawing at cement. And it’s a lecture more than anything, that’s plain in his tone regardless of how much he tries to soften it. But Alec can’t bring himself to look in Magnus’ eyes right now.

Normally he’d be standing at attention, eyes up, chin out, taking it like the soldier he is, the soldier he was born to be. But all he wants to do right now is curl into Magnus’ touch, the one that lingers just outside of him, pulling away even as Alec’s body tugs towards it like Alec has somehow convinced him he’s a feral animal easily spooked.

“When things get crazy, don’t push me away.”

It’s the pleading in his tone that finally makes Alec look, his eyes dragging upward until they’re locked on Magnus’, and this is what always gets him. What always trips him up. Why so often when they’re together, Alec looks above him, to the left, to the right, turns around, does pretty much _anything_ not to have to look him directly in the eye but he does now because Magnus deserves that, even if Alec doesn’t deserve him.

_I won’t_ , he thinks, and he wants it to be the truth so badly. Wants to believe that he can change, that he can accept the hand being offered to him instead of slapping it away like he’s used to with everyone. Izzy. Jace. _Life_.

But he can feel it spooling already, that urge to run, to light the fuse and run for his life and he doesn’t know how to fight that. Over two decades of explosions in his wake, _Alec doesn’t know how to stay_.

He’s about to say that, to be honest with someone for the first time in maybe ever. Is about to say he’s sorry and bolt but then something miraculous happens. Magnus reaches out, places his hand over where Alec’s is still nervously scratching at the balcony, and presses downward, stopping the movement.

For the first time in his life, Alec stays.


	2. When This Is Over

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Alec needs Magnus to understand.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So, I thought this was going to just be a one-shot, but it's turning into an actual story with multiple chapters and POVs. These two are far too addicting. Enjoy!

“I will help you, but on one condition.”

 

Magnus pulls his hand back when he says that, the cold air harsh as it threads through Alec’s body, radiating from where Magnus had been touching him like a brushfire made of ice.

 

“Anything.”

 

Magnus nods tightly, his face set in stone. “I say when we stop.”

 

He pauses, as if waiting for Alec to fight him on this. But the cold has seeped all the way to his chest now, snuffing out any chance of argument. 

 

“If I feel like we’re pushing it too far, Alec… if I feel like we’re going too deep, I will pull you back. Even if you haven’t found what you’re looking for.”

 

The last bit is said with a tipped down head and eyes that look up shyly at him. And it makes Alec feel like pretty much the biggest jerk on the planet, that Magnus thinks he has to look at him like that.

 

With _caution._

“Thank you,” he says by way of responding, making sure that his tone clearly indicates how much he wants to fall to the ground and kiss Magnus’ feet right now.

 

“Just… _thank you_.”

 

It’s not a conscious decision, what he does next. How he reaches out to cup Magnus’ face, his fingers trembling as he leans down to press their lips together. It’s all just gut reaction. But judging by Magnus’ response, his gut didn’t read the situation correctly at all.

 

He’s never kissed a wall before, but he’s guessing it feels a hell of a lot like this, like brick and mortar, rough against his lips. Unyielding. _Unforgiving_. And that’s the word that sticks in his mind more than anything.

 

He needs to be forgiven.

 

“You didn’t have to do that,” Magnus says when he pulls back, his voice as cold as the vise twisting around Alec’s heart. “I already said I would help you.”

 

A flash of anger presses through Alec’s bloodstream. And it’s not enough to warm him up, but it is enough to get him to say, “That’s not why I did it,” in a voice that leaves little room for argument.

 

Magnus, of course, still argues.

 

“It’s all right, Alec. I understand.”

 

He goes to move away at that, heading for the door. And even though it’s probably a really bad idea to corner a warlock in his own home, there’s absolutely no chance Alec is letting him walk away right now. Not until he’s said his peace.

 

So he steps in his path, holding his arms in front of him but careful not to touch just in case Magnus’ reflexes are of the strike first, ask questions later variety. His voice lowering to the depths he only uses when he wants to make damn sure he’s being heard when he says, “No, Magnus, I really don’t think you do.”

 

There’s no threat in his eyes, no magic sparking from his fingers. But Alec would almost prefer those as he watches the layers Magnus has probably spent centuries building slip from his gaze until all that’s left is him, bare and honest and open in a way that punches the air clean from Alec’s lungs.

 

There was a speech in his head, a half-formed one full of declarations of… _something_. But the words are Latin now, and Alec was always terrible at Latin so he throws the entire thing out, sets the trashcan on fire and _reacts_.

 

When his fingers curl around the back of Magnus’ neck, he melts into Alec’s touch, his whole body seemingly pliable, _liquid_ as he lets Alec pull him in, closing the distance between them.

 

This time when he kisses him, the brick wall is nowhere to be found.

 

There’s a hunger there, a desperation Alec has only ever known in the depths of his own thoughts, buried so deep not even a single ray of light has ever touched them. And he can’t tell if it belongs to him, to Magnus, or to both of them, or if any of that even matters as his grip tightens if only to keep himself from slipping over the edge completely.

 

Something surges inside of him, like a hand hard on his back, shoving him forward. And it’s in that moment, his chest pressed so tight to Magnus’ he can feel both of their hearts hammering against his ribs, that he realizes Magnus isn’t touching him.

 

He lets go of Magnus’ neck, but only so he can reach down, take Magnus’ wrists in his hands. And he knows it’s probably none of his damn business, that if Magnus doesn’t want to touch him he shouldn’t have to touch him. But Alec’s not entirely sure if he’s ever needed anything in his life more than he needs Magnus’ hands, pressed to his skin, and so he does it, boundaries be damned.

 

He places one on the side of his own neck, feeling something spark through his pulse point that might be magic but might also just be desire, he doesn’t have enough experience with either one of those things to know the difference. His heartbeat is racing, though, pounding so hard he’s got water rushing in his ears and he’s almost too scared to finish what he started.

 

He settles eventually on his heart, placing Magnus’ other hand there and pressing it flat like Magnus had done with him to keep his fingers from scratching the railing raw. And it’s painful – actually physically _painful_ – to have him this close, directly over the center of his life. But he wants Magnus to _know._

There’s so much he wants Magnus to know.

 

A shudder racks through Magnus’ body, causing him to break the kiss. And during the split second in which Alec finally opens his eyes, everything inside of him completely unravels.

 

There’s a word forming on Magnus’ lips, the _A_ of Alec’s name hovering just out of reach as his eyes stare wildly up at him, the glamour forgotten. And Alec has never seen him like this, never felt the rush of power that’s pulsing just under the surface of Magnus’ skin, pressed to the most vulnerable parts of him where so much as a flicker could snuff out his life. And it’s terrifying and exhilarating at the exact same time, putting that power literally in Magnus’ hands.

 

 _I’m yours_ , he thinks, almost _says_. And it’s cheesy as hell and way too soon besides – _how the hell did this happen so fast?_ – but the words are still there, lacing every ragged breath he manages to pull into his burning lungs.

 

Magnus curls his fingers against Alec’s chest, his arm tensing where Alec is still gripping him like there’s something inside of him trying to get out. Something other than Alec’s name. And it’s every lightning storm he’s ever witnessed, electric in Magnus’ eyes, in his touch, and Alec can’t look at it anymore.

 

It’s just _too much_. So he shuts his eyes again and leans in, crushing their lips together because if he’s not going to be able to breathe anyway, he might as well do something useful with his wasted oxygen.

 

He lets Magnus’ wrists go, fairly confident he won’t pull back, and fists his hands in Magnus’ hair. And he’s expecting it to crunch like his own had the three times in his life he’d stolen Jace’s hair gel because he wanted to look nice, the last of which was for Magnus. And just like that, his focus slips, his parabatai rune throbbing feebly before he shoves it back down again.

 

Five more minutes. Please, just _five more minutes_. Five minutes not to think, five minutes just to _feel_ , and then he’ll be Alec again. He’ll be a soldier again.

 

He needs this. Needs Magnus’ hair, soft in his fingers because of course he doesn’t need store bought hair gel to look perfect. And the thought _he doesn’t need you, either_ , slips through the crack left open in Jace’s wake so quickly he can’t catch it, like insecurity is the catch word of Alec’s freaking life.

 

The way Magnus chooses that exact moment to push against his body makes him think that maybe what he just thought isn’t strictly true. The same goes for the soft, keening sound Magnus makes when Alec grips his hair hard enough to hurt. And Alec is running out of time here, he knows that, can feel the walls closing in, the world slipping back to focus. Which is why he breaks the kiss. Because there’s something he wants to say and if he doesn’t say it now, he’s not sure he’ll be able to.

 

“I’d do anything for you, too.”

 

The words are harsh as they bite into the soft skin of Magnus’ neck, his voice almost unrecognizable, even to him. And like so much else with Magnus, he’s not sure where they even came from, like they were pulled from some dark corner of his mind he didn’t even know existed.

 

But they’re true, of that much he’s certain. As soon as they’re out of his mouth, he knows just how true they are. And he’s trembling again at that, his whole body shaking from the inside out as he holds on to Magnus like he’s the last tether left in existence.

 

Magnus removes his hands from where Alec had placed them, but only to push Alec back, cup his face and hold him still as he says, “The only thing I want from you is for you to stay alive.”

 

His words do absolutely nothing to stop the tremors. In fact, they only make them worse, like a full on earthquake tearing apart his body, ripping at every carefully made seam.

 

He’s never had anyone ask that of him before. Never had anyone say something like that, make his life a priority. And that…

 

“I’ll… I’ll do my best,” he manages to stutter because Magnus is looking at him with so much freaking _care_ that he feels the need to answer him. But the way Magnus’ expression sinks makes him realize that, yet again, he said the exact wrong thing.

 

He brushes one thumb lightly over Alec’s lips, raises his other hand to card through Alec’s hair, his voice tender but still backed by the force, the _power_ Alec clearly remembers from earlier when he says, “Alec, I’m serious.”

 

He is. Alec can see that, clear as day. And he’s never been more terrified of anything in his entire life.

 

“If anything were to happen to you, I-”

 

He doesn’t let Magnus finish the sentence, cutting his words off with a kiss that feels deeper somehow than the ones that came before it. And he does it because he wants to, because kissing Magnus is the first and possibly the last thing he’ll ever want to do. But he also does it because he doesn’t want to hear him finish that sentence.

 

Not then.

 

Not now.

 

Not ever.

 

And so he kisses him, holds on to the moment as long as he can until his five minutes are up like there’s a timer in his head. The pain returning alongside its good friend panic as Jace’s fear overtakes whatever part of him still belongs to _him_.

 

“When this is over,” he says, the words little more than a pant as he presses his forehead to Magnus’ for a sense of balance he’s not sure he’ll ever feel again. “When Jace is…”

 

He can’t bring himself to say it. To say, _when Jace is back_ , not when so much is still so uncertain.

 

The way Magnus kisses him softly, his lips brushing the corner of Alec’s mouth assures him that he’ll never have to say it. That he’ll never have to say _anything_ if he doesn’t want to because somehow, some way, Magnus will always hear him regardless.

 

“When this is over,” Magnus says, the words hummed against Alec’s skin. And it’s a promise. One that Magnus said, but one that Alec intends to keep.

 

_When this is over._


	3. Please

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> He made a promise. And Magnus always keeps his promises.

Something warm swells in Magnus’ chest as he watches Alec fold his jacket neatly and drape it over the arm of a chair. 

 

It’s hopelessly endearing, how careful Alec is in his home as if he’s trying not to disturb any more space than is absolutely necessary. One would think that would be difficult for a person as imposing as him, but there’s a grace about Alec no doubt cultivated over years of trying to go unnoticed. And it breaks his heart a little to wonder at all it must have taken to make him this way.

 

So tragic, and yet so beautiful.

 

There’s a faint hope lost somewhere in the ether of Magnus’ mind that someday, Alec might feel at home here. There’s no space in his closet at present, but he would be willing to burn every stitch of fabric in there if it meant Alec had a place to hang his drab, tattered clothing.

 

He steals a moment to imagine the possibilities as he watches Alec smooth the wrinkles out of a jacket that should’ve been put out of commission years ago. Wonders what it would be like to see him draped casually across that same chair, a book in his hands as his long legs dangle over the side. Or how he might look in the morning with sleep worn hair and a cup of coffee steaming beneath his chin.

 

Alec probably looks exactly like an angel when pillow creases adorn his cheeks and the thoughts are almost too much right now, despite not being of his normal, sinful variety. They’re all painfully _domestic_ , which somehow makes them worse, as if the most terrifying concept in existence is the idea of Alec Lightwood, filling up this space.

 

He shakes his head lightly and wipes the traces of a smile off his lips because he has no right to think those things. Not on a day like today.

 

Alec casts Magnus a shy, almost helpless look when he goes to remove his t-shirt, which is ludicrous given what just occurred on the balcony. And that probably means that Magnus should look away, give him some privacy. But the thought of propriety strikes him just as Alec begins to tug on the hem and once that’s begun, there are very few things that would be able to tear Magnus’ vision away.

 

The last time he saw Alec shirtless, the planes of his body covered in runes, his reaction was decidedly different. But it had been easy then to forget what the markings truly are. Over the centuries, many of his lovers have been the sort to favor body art. And in spite of the poor organizational pattern and crude drawing skills, Alec’s runes still look like a masterpiece burned into his skin.

 

But they aren’t art; they are _armor_ , protection just like the chainmail of old. Every one of them drawn often hastily in battle and Magnus would cover every inch of Alec’s perfect skin in them if he thought it would guarantee even another day of his life.

 

It’s yet another terrifying thought in a life that’s already overflowing with them. But he realized very early on that Alec Lightwood is a terrifying individual – a hurricane, really, equal parts beauty and destruction. And if there was ever a moment to back away from the storm, it’s long since passed.

 

“Such is my luck. I finally get you half naked on my couch and I’ve no time to take advantage of it,” he says in response to the way Alec looks like he’s easing into quicksand instead of fine Italian leather as he lowers himself to the couch.

 

He was hoping the joke would lessen whatever burden is currently resting on his shoulders, but the way Alec blinks up at him blankly as he settles into the cushions tells him he failed spectacularly.

 

The attempt was only half-hearted at best, his own voice pinched taut by the dread pooling in his stomach, tightening his throat. And Alec is clearly lost in the abyss of his own fear, the man on the balcony already a distant memory to Magnus, a shape lost in the fog as they move steadily away from it. And so he should have known a joke would be next to worthless.

 

He can’t imagine what it must feel like to have your soul willingly bonded to another for life. And someone you had to choose before age eighteen, no less. If Magnus had chosen a soul mate before eighteen he would have spent centuries bonded to a prostitute named Marta, which would have been dreadful. Six months with her was more than enough. 

 

He wonders, though, if parabatai ever regret the decision made through the misty eyes of youth. He’s fairly certain if he posed that question to Graymark, he’d get a rather interesting response. But something tells him that in spite of the pain etched into every tense line of Alec’s body, the word _regret_ has not even so much as flitted across his mind.

 

The whole idea has always seemed repugnant to him, another of the Nephilim’s barbaric customs. That is, of course, until Alec looks up from the couch at him and smiles. Or attempts a smile, anyway. And suddenly the thought of having one’s soul surgically grafted to that of another doesn’t sound so terrible. 

 

“So how do we do this?” he asks if only to break himself free from these unhelpful fetters.

 

Alec gives him a funny look, the one with the single squinted eye and the scrunched up nose that Magnus has most definitely never seen haunting his dreams.

 

“I mean from your end. I know what I’m doing. I _always_ know what I’m doing. It comes naturally from being fabulous at everything I put my mind to.”

 

He takes it as a point of pride that he never gets nervous, and yet here he is, babbling like an imbecile with sweaty palms and cotton in his mouth as Alec slips his stele from his pocket.

 

There’s guilt mixed in with the nerves now, a sharp pang of it as he recalls the last time he saw Alec’s stele. Re: The time he _stole_ it. But thankfully the issue of how the Cup magically disappeared from Alec’s locked safe has been buried under the crushing mass of everything that came after.

 

When he reaches the stele out to him, Magnus’ chest constricts a few more notches.

 

“You have to draw it.”

 

In an attempt to play off the way he feels like his lungs may actually be shrinking in his chest, he brandishes the stele like a sword and takes a few quick swashbuckles.

 

“I thought it wouldn’t work for me? I am, after all, one of the tainted, aren’t I?”

 

Alec looks positively horrified at his statement, his entire body tensing even further like he’s about to defend Magnus’ honor to the imaginary people in the room. Which is so sweet it actually makes Magnus ache in places he had been fairly certain were long since dead.

 

He stops Alec from voicing his dismay with a raised hand and a flippant tip of his head, though, because as much as he’d no doubt love to hear it, he’s anxious to get this over with.

 

It’s a strange sensation, the tug of war between abject resistance and the desire to dive in headfirst and eyes closed. And he has a sinking feeling that it won’t be the last time Alec makes him feel this way.  
  
_If you don’t kill him first_ , a voice comes to him. And it sounds like Ragnor. Incredibly unhelpful, dripping with unwarranted superiority, and so yes, definitely Ragnor.

 

“We need to do it together,” Alec says just as Magnus is about to engage in verbal combat with the voice in his head. “Come-”

 

He stops himself from beckoning Magnus, his voice caught in his throat as he waves his hand instead like gestures are simply easier for him.

 

Perhaps they can create their own language someday. A hybrid of grunts, ticks and hand motions that only they comprehend. They could spend long, lazy weekends lying in bed together, figuring out the logistics, laughing over every new word. And the thought makes Magnus bite the inside of his cheek because he’s getting carried away again.

 

He really must stop.

 

He crosses to the couch finally and drops to his knees, his breath catching at how close they are. And judging by the flush that rises up Alec’s neck as soon as Magnus is within arm’s reach, he’s clearly not alone.

 

He might have been joking earlier, but he still wishes they had more time here. But that’s the problem with choosing to acquaint oneself with a Shadowhunter, isn’t it? There’s always some catastrophe in need of aversion.

 

Magnus has seen enough catastrophes to last him every single one of his lifetimes. Frankly, he’s grown bored of them.

 

“So what does our little art project look like today?” he says as he rubs the stele between his hands like he’s trying to start a fire. “And does it matter where we place it? Because if you’re taking suggestions, might I propose some place in this area? There seems to be a lot of open real estate down here.”

 

He gets so caught up in the rambling nonsense spilling from his mouth that he makes the mistake of touching Alec, his fingers brushing lightly over the area just above his right hip. And as Alec’s muscles tense under his touch, the power from earlier surges through Magnus’ veins, dimmer than before but still no less surprising.

 

He’d almost lost control on the balcony. Since they met, he hasn’t allowed himself touch Alec outside of business concerns for reasons he never quite comprehended until Alec chose to force the issue.

 

It’s been so long since he’s wanted someone, to lay claim to every inch of another being. In the past, however, he’d always managed to retain complete control, especially when dealing with the more mortal sects of creation. But when Alec had placed his hands on him something had awoken within, something that has lain dormant for decades.

 

He would never hurt Alec, would never even worry about the possibility. But the power that had arisen as he’d felt Alec’s pulse beneath his hands had been from some place dark, some place _desperate_. And while he knows he never has to worry about causing any physical damage, there are still far too many other ways to hurt.

 

In that moment, he had wanted Alec more strongly than he’s wanted anything in a long while, perhaps ever. And it had threatened to consume him.

 

He tells himself it was only because he was taken off guard. That he simply needs to make sure that never happens again. But even that will be difficult with Alec, given how surprising even his little actions can be. Like staying at a warlock’s home to clean werewolf blood off the furniture as if Shadowhunters did those sorts of things.

 

Alec’s eyes are shut tightly now, like Magnus is not the only one capable of being taken by surprise, his body tense and frozen. And Magnus knows that look well. It’s the unmistakable visage of someone internally screaming the word _no_ to themselves over and over again.

 

Magnus has never looked that way a day in his life because Magnus has played in every puddle he’s ever seen, reached out and grabbed every shiny object that caught his fancy. He knows the look, though, because he’s seen it on the faces of others enough to pick it out of a crowd. Because he has _caused it_ enough to be almost entirely immune to it. But like so much with Alec, it throws him for at least two or three loops to see it here.

 

“We… it’s not a new one, we don’t… don’t have to draw a new one,” Alec says once he’s composed himself, the stammer in his voice so familiar to Magnus already that he feels like he could lay claim to it without any objections. Plant his flag in the dirt and start handing out citizenship papers if he liked, even though he’s fairly positive he wouldn’t want anyone else to live here with him.

 

“This one,” he finishes, pointing to a rather plain looking rune, fresher than the others, twisting like a pretzel over the mark he’s assuming belongs to the Wayland boy. Or Morgenstern, he supposes he should say.

 

The thought of pretzels fills his mind instantly with lewd and unhelpful jokes, but they’re swallowed whole as his eyes linger on the rune beneath it.

 

He tries not to acknowledge the deep ache that comes over him when he looks on it because he has no true claim to Alec. Maybe someday, if he’s incredibly lucky, but right now, at this point in time, there isn’t a single part of Alec Lightwood that belongs to Magnus Bane. And yet here is a mark that will always belong to Jace Whatever-His-Last-Name-Is-Now, regardless of how the rest of Alec’s life plays out.

 

He has never wanted to be a Shadowhunter, has never wished to trade his demon blood for their supposedly superior angel variety. And it’s been a long time since he’s felt anything other than completely at peace with who he is. Yet he can see the faint traces of something brewing on the horizon, a desire to mark and _be marked_ in a way such as this, by Alec, _with Alec_. And that…

 

“Magnus?”

 

Alec’s voice shakes him out of his reverie, his tone soft like he’s afraid he’s disturbing something important, perhaps some sort of plot to save the world. And a small hiccup of laughter bubbles out of him as he glides his eyes up Alec’s torso so he can catch his gaze.

 

“You okay?”

 

“Oh, I’m fine. I was just wondering why I never got around to getting a tattoo. I’ve been alive for most of the periods where they were popular, you know. It seems like something I should have done by now.”

 

Alec knits his eyebrows together, reading the lie in Magnus’ eyes probably. And he would just have to be perceptive, wouldn’t he? Magnus was never very good at falling for the dumb ones.

 

Pretty and perceptive rarely go hand in hand in his experience. Smart, yes, but someone that walks through life with a face like Alec’s shouldn’t have to be _keen_. He shouldn’t even need to look where he’s going. He should simply be able to walk around with his eyes closed while his surroundings bended to his unspoken will.  


He’s off track again. He really should learn to focus. But in his defense Alec is topless and within arm’s reach, smelling like something that literally fell from the heavens. And Magnus is only human. Or half human, anyway.

 

“So we trace the pretzel together and then what?”

 

“Then I look and you… help?”

 

Of course Alec wouldn’t have more than that. He doubts there’s anything in the Codex about using Downworlder powers to enhance an angelic rune. There’s a chance that this won’t even work at all, that the assumption that superior warlock tracking powers backing a parabatai track will result in nothing more than a fireworks show and a heap of disappointment. But the dread still pooling in his gut tells him otherwise.

 

This is going to work, he just doesn’t know how well.

 

Or should he say how _poorly._

 

“May I ask who drew the original? When I’m working on a forgery, I like to know whose work I’m stealing.”

 

It’s a stupid comment. Not because Magnus is above criminal activity for the right price. But anyone who knows him knows that his artistic skills extend very little beyond the makeup on his face and paint on his nails.

 

But then again, Alec doesn’t know him. Not yet. And the swelling around his heart returns in full force as he very nearly prays that this will go well enough that they’ll have the simple chance to get to know each other.

 

He almost _prays_. What exactly has come over him?

 

“Hodge drew it, after Jace... before the trial, when I was looking... when the Cup...”

 

It’s as if, yet again, this is all too much for him. Like the memories of the last few days are crashing like waves on top of the already roaring sea of fear for his parabatai’s life. And Magnus risks resting a hand on his arm in the hopes that it might calm him.

 

For once, his plan does not backfire. For the first time ever, he touches Alec without sending either one of them into a state of shock. The words, “I understand,” as gentle as he can make them as he smiles down at Alec and squeezes his hand just enough to let him know he means it.

 

A look of all-consuming gratitude washes over every inch of Alec’s face. And it makes him wonder if there is not just _one_ facial expression he owns that Magnus can find ugly, or at least not irrepressibly attractive.

 

That’s going to be his task once they are past this: To find one single expression that he can turn his nose up at. It’ll be a grand quest. And it’s good, to have a goal to focus on. One beyond this moment, tied to the word _when_.

 

 _When_ they are past this. There is simply no place for _if_ here. And there is equally no more room for stalling.

 

He has to curl over Alec’s body in order to draw the rune. And under normal circumstances, he would relish every moment of the experience. The way Alec’s stomach tucks neatly under his arm, or the way Alec’s hand feels wrapped around his own.

 

But he’s seen Shadowhunters draw runes before, and is bright enough to know that burning anything into one’s skin is painful. And so it’s no surprise that his breath is held firmly in his lungs as they lower the stele to Alec’s skin.

 

Whatever he was expecting, this is entirely different. Because he’d been expecting pain. _He had been expecting that his actions would cause Alec pain_. But the way his skin blanches instantly, his pupils blown wide before his eyes screw shut is beyond the scope of even Magnus’ imagination.

 

Alec is not weak. Magnus has felt his strength before, been buoyed by the power coursing through Alec’s veins. And the thought makes him hate the Angel responsible for creating something that could cause one of his beloved children so much _pain._

Because he is Alec, he tries to hide it. Magnus can see that plainly in the way his cheeks are hollowed out from how he’s biting the insides of them, the way his free hand balls into a fist so tight he wouldn’t be surprised to find blood in Alec’s palm when this is finished. And yet, through it all, his grip on Magnus still remains controlled while Magnus squeezes the stele so hard he’s worried it might crack.

 

He snaps his fingers without even realizing what he’s doing, spreads his hand wide, hovering a few inches above Alec’s stomach. And he’s never been the best healer – there are others with far more talent in that department – but he’s always been good at removing pain.

 

The way Alec bites the word, “ _Don’t_ ,” at him is startling, not leastwise because he was worried Alec was too far gone already to form words.

 

“ _Alexander_ -”

 

“Magnus, please. It… it helps… helps m-me focus,” he says, his voice ragged as if someone had taken it and scraped it over a sea of gravel before returning it to his mouth.

 

When he opens his eyes, Magnus’ heart breaks.

 

“Please, Magnus, I’m fine. Let it… let it come. I’m _fine_ , I p-… promise.”

 

He does as Alec asks, but only because they’re almost finished with the rune. But just because he stopped healing, that doesn’t mean he has to stop _comforting_. Which is why he takes Alec’s free hand in his own, wrapping his fingers tightly over the fist, and squeezes.

 

Alec is gasping for breath when they finish, the air riding on the heels of sounds that remind Magnus of a dying animal. And so it’s not surprising that his knees feel like jelly when he rises to his feet.

 

He can still smell burnt flesh as he lets his eyes settle back on Alec, his fingers already tingling from the magic just beneath them. But despite the fact that he knows he cannot turn back now, he hesitates.

 

There’s desperation in Alec’s eyes when he opens them this time, like a scared child, lost in the woods. And Magnus has to shut his own eyes because he simply cannot bear to see Alec like this.

 

It’s an image he knows will be burned into his memory. And all he can hope is that it won’t be the last one he has of him.

 

“Mag… Magnus. D-do... do it. P-please.”

 

He made a promise. And Magnus always keeps his promises.

 

The scream is primal, ripped deep from within Alec the moment Magnus’ magic touches his skin. And it shakes him to the core, shatters his heart into so many pieces that he wonders how he’ll ever be able to find them all, much less put them back together.

 

He can’t afford to focus on that now, though. This is Alec’s journey to take, but Magnus is the rope, tethering him to this place, keeping him from slipping into the darkness.

 

He’s here to push him, guide him, carry him if need be to wherever Jace is hidden, but more than that he’s here to hold on. To give Alec something to _hold onto_ when everything inside of him is struggling to pull him under.

 

Magnus was caught in a riptide once when he was young, before magic was a part of his life. He can still remember the feel of the undertow, the way it pulled on him, refusing to let go. And it’s what he’s feeling now, times a hundred. Times a _thousand_. Which means he doesn’t even want to imagine what Alec is going through.

 

The scream has died down, but in its place is something almost worse. Choked, sobbing words boiling out of Alec’s throat as he fists his hands at his sides and writhes on the couch.

 

“Jace… don’t… don’t go. Please. Please. Come… come back. Where are you? _Where are you_? Jace, I need… Jace _please_.”

 

Magnus’ arms begin to tremble, but it’s not from the strain. Without even trying, he’s managed to tap into something very deep here, very _old._ The magic is pouring through his body like an unrelenting flood, but there’s something wrong. Like a shadow just beyond his vision and no matter which direction he turns he can’t catch it.

 

“Alec,” he says, his own voice deeper, just like everything else. “Alec, can you hear me? I think…”

 

He thinks…

 

He needs…

 

 _He’s scared_.

 

“Alec, I’m sorry, but,” he starts to say, but at the exact moment he decides it’s too much, that they’ve gone too far, something snaps. And it feels like it’s him, like it’s both of them, bones breaking like twigs, cutting into organs it all just _snaps_.

 

Just like that, Alec is gone, slipping through his fingers like rain. 

 

 _Alec is gone_.

 

He’s on his knees again inside of a heartbeat, one ripped from a pulse pounding furiously in his chest. And any fear he had about touching Alec is wiped away in the desperate need to feel him, find a pulse, find _life_.

 

“Alec, wake up,” he says, _begs_ as shaky fingers move from his neck – a pulse, thin, weak, but _there_ – to his face. Cheeks, nose, lips, eyes, shut tight to the world and Magnus is unspooling alarmingly fast.

 

“ _Alexander!_ ” he hisses as he grips Alec’s shoulders and shakes as if he’s just sleeping here, resting after a long day of saving the world and soon, _any moment_ , he’ll wake up and smile at Magnus like he’s the sun itself, rising in the sky.

 

But that doesn’t happen. It may _never happen again_ , and Magnus has never felt so small in his entire existence. Has never felt as weak and insignificant when held up against the enormity of the world as he does right now as he presses a soft, shaky kiss to Alec’s lips and begs, one more time.

 

“Please, wake up.”


	4. Help

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Never in a million years did he think he’d find something to love about a Lightwood, much less two. But Magnus doesn’t throw promises around easily, and right now, the Lightwood siblings own the only two that matter.

Magnus tries everything he can think of. Every spell he knows, every potion in memory. He even attempts to use Alec’s stele to activate the healing rune. But even after he puts it in Alec’s hand and wraps his own fingers around skin that’s burning up as if from a deep fever, the magic is simply gone.

 

Their connection is broken on every level, and eventually he comes to the conclusion that there is simply nothing he can do to help.

 

When his efforts fail to make a dent, he’s forced to contact the Institute in the hopes that returning Alec to his own people might accomplish what centuries of magical knowledge has failed to. He uses Alec’s phone to call Isabelle, though, because he can’t bring himself to make this official Institute business.

 

Whether that’s for Alec’s sake or his own there’s no way to tell, given how wrapped up those two things have become of late.

 

It’s easy to figure out his password. In fact, it only takes him one guess – Alec’s birthday, which is something Magnus knows because Magnus is very fond of research.

 

For someone who does clandestine work for a living, Alec is surprisingly lax in the technological security department. Which is apparently something else Magnus is fond of, judging by the small flicker of warmth that lights weakly in his chest when the phone grants him easy access.

 

Isabelle is his first speed dial, even before Jace, and he wonders absently if she knows this. Is aware that in even this small thing, he puts her above all else.

 

His throat is a mass of swollen muscles, but he still pushes the call button. Because if ever there was a time to cower, this would not be it. When she answers, however, he freezes.

 

“Hey big bro, good to see you actually still know how to use one of these. I only left you, like, five thousand messages. Clary said you yelled at her. And I’m not trying to lecture you, we all know how you get when things are slipping beyond your carefully coordinated,” she coughs, “ _analretentive_ control, but you really need to stop yelling at everyone. Eventually people are going to stop wanting to be around you. Which might be what you’re going for, who am I to judge, but given that I tend to be around you more often than not, I don’t want to lose all of my friends too if it’s all the same to you.”

 

“Isabelle,” he says, willing himself to sound normal, composed. But in the end, he can’t help the way his voice shakes around her name.

 

“Magnus? Is that-” She breaks off momentarily, the sound of her voice pulling away from the phone like she’s checking the number. “Why are you on Alec’s phone? What’s-”

 

She pauses again, but judging by the way her voice chokes out of her, it’s for an entirely different reason this time.

 

“Is he still alive?”

 

He hates how that is the question she settles on, her voice resigned as if she’s been waiting her whole life to ask someone precisely that.

 

Magnus gets a flash of his future, one filled with decades of fearing the same exact thing. But it’s a fate he’d gladly accept if it meant that Alec wouldn’t die today.

 

“Yes,” he says, “but… but something has happened. Something that I cannot-”

 

_Something that I cannot fix_ , he thinks with a sense of despair so overwhelming it feels like a physical weight, pinning him to the earth.

 

“I think you need to send someone to get him. Perhaps there is something that can be done on your end.”

 

The words sound dreadful to him, like he’s conducting a business transaction. But he doesn’t know how else to do this, how to say _your brother might be dying and it is all my fault_ without breaking apart completely.

 

“I’m coming,” she says before the line snaps dead. And the silence that pools around him in her wake does nothing to alleviate the sensation of being crushed.

 

He puts Alec’s t-shirt back on him while he waits, knowing instinctively that Alec would be embarrassed if he didn’t. But the action makes him feel like a mortician, clothing the dead as he recalls the shy look that had been painted on Alec’s face when he’d taken it off.

 

Now his countenance is twisted in pain.  
  
Magnus keeps the jacket, hiding it in his closet in case anyone were to recognize it as Alec’s and try to take it with them. Because he may have no choice but to give Alec back to his family, but he still wants to keep at least a little part of him here. Even if it is only a tattered article of clothing.

 

They arrive a short while later with Isabelle in the lead, and it strikes him instantly how there are only a few of them, and how their faces are all familiar to him even if their names are not.

 

_Friends_ , he thinks. She brought only friends. And he would hug her for that small favor if he weren’t tempted to never lay a hand on another Lightwood as long as he lives.

 

She could have told her mother, could have sent an entire army to reclaim their fallen soldier, and Magnus would not have stopped them. He would have let them do whatever they wanted with him, would have refused to fight. But this…

 

This is truly a gift, one he will not soon forget.

 

She watches silently as they put her brother on the stretcher, her face an intricate carving, etched in stone, while Magnus opens a portal back to the Institute. Because he doesn’t know how they got here, but there’s no sense in making them take the long way home.

 

She waits as the others take him through, coiled like a snake. Which is why he is expecting an attack, a lecture perhaps, or at the very least questions. But all she does once they are alone is hug him, her arms wrapped tightly around his waist as a tremor slips through her façade.

 

In another unexpected turn, she kisses his cheek when she pulls back. And there’s a fire in her eyes when she looks up at him, like she’s daring fate itself to try and take her brother from her.

 

She doesn’t say a single word; she just stares up at Magnus almost willing him to feel that same bravery, that same _certainty._ And in that moment, a part of him loves her dearer than he’s loved few people in his life.

 

As soon as they are gone, he retrieves the jacket and puts it on. It fits him well. The arms are a touch too long and the fabric feels rough against skin accustomed to finer things. But he rolls up the sleeves like Alec does to solve the first problem, and forgets about the second one as soon as he pulls the front of the jacket up to his face.

 

It smells like him. And Magnus is pretty sure he would wear fire and spikes, would let them tear his skin apart right now if they smelled like Alec.

 

~*~

 

He spends two full days draining every drop of liquor in his loft, then another two conjuring up more.

 

Isabelle texts him periodically, always from Alec’s phone. She could easily put his number in her own phone, but it must bring her some comfort to use Alec’s even if it fails to do the same for him.

 

His heart skips a beat every time he sees the name pop up, but it’s always her scattered words and punctuation-free abbreviations, never his formal diction that greet him.

 

The few times Alec has texted him, he’s always had impeccable spelling and grammar, like he couldn’t even bring himself to be improper in a text message.

 

Magnus has saved every single one. Has even thought of having them monogrammed on a pillow. Only the finest silk, the kind he could rest his head on at night, keep Alec’s words close to him even if those words are only, _I’m glad that you were able to sleep. Spells like the one you used on Luke must be incredibly draining._

 

According to Isabelle, there has been no change by the fourth day, and he’s run out of alcohol for the second time. He’s restless and caught somewhere between the never-ending loop of drunk and hung over, in the kind of mood that has historically lead to some of his poorest decisions. And so, in true Magnus Bane fashion, he decides that this is the perfect time to pay Alec a visit.

 

He’s been wearing the jacket ever since they took Alec away, but he takes it off now because he wants to feel like himself. It no longer smells like him anyway; the only noticeable scent it carries is the faint sweetness of the alcohol leeching off of Magnus’ own skin. So he removes it, showers, does his hair and makeup in the most imposing way he knows how and stands inside his closet like he’s visiting the grave of an old friend.

 

He wants to look powerful today, needs to put off that air if he is to accomplish what needs to be done. But he doesn’t realize that he has chosen all black until he’s fully dressed and standing in front of a portal, and by that point it would be silly to go back and change.

 

Black can be a frightening color anyway. And Magnus may need that particular element before this day is through.

 

Even if the Institute were not on lockdown with a strict ban on all Downworlders in place, he’s positive he would not be welcome. But one of the perks of being the creator of the wards is that he knows all the ways around them.

 

He even had the supreme foresight to set up a few of his own backdoors the last time he was here working, hoping that someday he might have the occasion to use them for secret late night rendezvous with a certain Shadowhunter. But when he’d put them in place, he never dreamed he’d be using them for something like this.

 

He could just portal himself directly in, but he can’t be certain they haven’t found other safeguards since the incident. So it’s best to feel them out in person instead of running the risk of portaling into a brick wall or jail cell.

 

He’s almost to Alec’s room when someone stops him. One of the Shadowhunters that had come to get him the other day, the one with the brown skin and kind eyes that had cradled Alec’s head as they’d slipped him onto the stretcher, his fingers lingering in Alec’s hair before he’d caught Magnus looking and pulled away.

 

“You can’t be here, Magnus.”

 

In spite of the Seraph blade he’s currently brandishing, he looks frightened when he speaks as if he is fully aware that he has cornered a dangerous creature with nothing to lose. But Magnus’ voice is genuine when he says, “I am truly sorry,” because he is.

 

“But there is no place else that I can be.”

He raises his hand at that, feels the familiar fire tugging inside of him. And despite how much he hates doing this, he does it anyway. Because he has no other choice.

 

He makes sure not to do any permanent damage, other than that done to his relationship with the Clave. But he never had a particularly great one with them to begin with, and he’s not about to begin caring for that fact today.

 

He feels every single one of his three hundred plus years when he kneels next to Alec’s bed, his blood crashing in his ears as tears bead in his eyes.

 

He looks exactly the same, which is both a comfort and _not_. Because at least he has not gotten worse. But in spite of Isabelle’s texts, he had still borne a faint hope that there was a chance he was getting better.

 

“I don’t have much time before the cavalry descends,” he says, his voice a hushed whisper like he’s afraid to disturb Alec’s slumber. “But I just wanted… _needed_ to see you.”

 

He bends his head low at that, nudging his nose against Alec’s chin before pressing a soft kiss to the line of his jaw.  

 

“Do you remember what you told me? On the balcony? You said-”

 

Something lodges in the back of his throat, cutting off his words. But he swallows it down because this needs to be said, and he wasn’t lying when he claimed that he had precious little time here.

“You said that you would do anything for me, and I told you that all I wanted from you was for you to stay alive. I am counting on you to keep that promise, Alexander.”

 

He brushes his lips across Alec’s, tastes the salt from his sweat and swallows it down before running his fingers cautiously through Alec’s hair.

 

“I have lived many lifetimes, but I fear that I will not be able to survive your death. Not here. Not now.”

 

_Not ever_ , he thinks, but that’s a battle for another day. And the sound of the old, thick wooden door slamming into the wall behind him is the signal that today’s battle has finally begun.

 

“Magnus Bane, by order of the Clave I am placing you under arrest for trespassing and assault.”

 

He sighs deeply, but he keeps his hands right where they are – one of them twisted in Alec’s damp hair and the other resting flat against Alec’s heart.

 

He was hoping Maryse would be the one to do this. He was counting on it, actually, in order for his plan to work. But that does not mean that he has to like hearing the sound of her voice right now.

 

“I am sorry, Maryse, but that is simply not happening today.”

 

He removes his hand from Alec’s hair long enough to flick his wrist, enshrouding the three of them in a literal bubble that should give him plenty of time to make his case.

 

“Is this some kind of threat?” she hisses once she realizes that he has effectively cut her off from whatever backup she brought with her. “Because I am not afraid of you, warlock.”

 

He gets to his feet slowly, feels his joints pop in a way they rarely do, and turns to finally face her. His own expression a mask of indifference he’s intent on keeping firmly in place.

 

“This is not a threat, Maryse. It is a conversation.”

 

“You certainly have an interesting way of starting a conversation.”

 

In spite of the heat in her tone, she can’t hide how tired she looks. And it would almost make him feel something, seeing her so clearly worn down with worry, if he were capable of feeling anything for her other than disdain.

 

“What do you want then?” she asks as if she’s doing him a favor simply by lowering herself to speak to him.

 

He steels himself inside and replies, “I want you to let me help him.”

 

The sharp bark of laughter sends a chill up his spine.

 

“Help him? _Help_ him? You are the one that did this to him.”

 

He would very much like to point out that she is the one who forced the Wayland boy into Alec’s life while simultaneously raising him to believe his own existence only had value in relation to that of others. To remind her that she was the one that almost singlehandedly created the insecurities he wears like a poorly fitted suit of armor. The words, the _accusations_ , are all there, laid bare and ready to strike.

 

He has never cared much for the Lightwoods and their particular brand of haughty superiority, one Maryse seems to have turned into an art form. And so right now, with Alec dying behind him and a loft full of alcohol saturating his “vile demon blood,” it takes every ounce of what little self-control he still possesses not to tear her apart.

 

How Alexander and Isabelle came from this woman, he will never comprehend. Apparently, the Lightwoods solved in a few decades the puzzle it took Magnus centuries to figure out. That when both nature and nurture deal you a terrible hand, the only option is to make up your own game.

 

“I have a friend,” he says once he has shoved his anger into the box where he usually stores it, locked away safely in the corner of his soul.

 

That’s the other reason he’d come. When the thought came to him this morning, sparking like a light bulb in an old cartoon, he could not believe that he hadn’t thought of her first, before he allowed Alec to be put behind locked doors. He hadn’t been thinking at the time, that’s the problem. But that is _always_ Magnus’ problem, and so it’s no longer a valid excuse.

 

The way he ignored her initial insult seems to have only riled Maryse up further, judging by the tone of her voice and the way her eyes look like they are about to pop clear from her head.

 

“I am fairly certain that I do not care to be acquainted with anyone that would call you a friend,” she says, spitting the word _friend_ like venom.

 

“She is a healer, Maryse,” he says, impressed with how well he is managing to handle this situation, given her current level of rancor. “Allow me to bring her here. Allow me to try.”

 

“What, you don’t just want to blast your way in again?”

 

A bitter flicker of laughter escapes his lips before he can rein it in.

 

“I could do that, and there would be very little you could do to stop me. But I would rather we do this amicably. I have no interest in making enemies of any more Shadowhunters, least of all the mother of someone I-”

 

Her eyes widen at his pause like a challenge, daring him to say the words that have been burning his lungs from the moment he laid eyes on her son. He refuses to say it to her, though, especially when Alec can’t hear it as well.

 

Can’t hear someone other than a sibling say that they love him.

 

So he says, “Of someone that _matters to me_ ,” instead because there are times and places for declarations of love, and this is neither one of those.

 

“If he matters to you as well, Maryse, I suggest that you let me call my friend. Or we could start another war within the Institute while Alec continues to slip away from _both_ of us. The choice rests in your hands.”

 

~*~

 

Due to the presence of some form of a beating heart, Maryse had reluctantly agreed to grant Magnus his request. And for the first time in days, something remotely resembling hope blooms in his chest as a small, thin woman with dark skin swims into focus.

 

“Catarina,” he says, the word slipping from his mouth like a breath he hadn’t even realized he’d been holding as he drags her into his arms. Her own body feeling thinner, frailer than usual as she sinks into the embrace.

 

“It’s just us, my dear,” he says when he pulls back from the hug, his smile genuine for the first time in days. “You do not need the glamour.”

 

He doesn’t want to add that he fears all of her energy might be needed elsewhere today because he does not wish to alarm her. But he still breathes a sigh of relief when she drops all pretenses and slips back into her natural form.

 

“I heard about Ragnor,” she says as her blue eyes widen at him, the blue of her skin seemingly darker today to match the touches of anger present in her normally genial tone.

 

“That you were there with him when it happened.”

 

Ah. There it is. The source of her ire.

 

“I should have called you. I am truly sorry,” he says with the appropriate level of shame and guilt, because it’s true, he should have called her. Ragnor was her friend as much as he was his, and there is simply no excuse for the days he spent forgetting that fact.

 

She’s not done pushing, though. Her tone still pinched when she says, “Perhaps if the pair of you hadn’t gotten involved in Shadowhunter business, he would still be with us today.”

 

It’s not like her to hit so low. She is a healer, but not in name alone. But she is also grieving, just like him, and so he can forgive her rare bout of callousness.

 

“Speaking of,” she adds, tipping her head toward where Alec is still lying comatose behind him. “It’s foolish getting involved with a mortal.”

 

“He is not strictly a mortal.”

 

“You know what I meant, Magnus. You and I both know how this ends.”

 

That is a funny thing to hear, coming from the mouth of a woman who has spent her entire existence healing mundanes.

 

“Tell me again, Catarina, how old was your fiancé when he passed? Eighty-four?”

 

She straightens her posture as if in challenge to his comment. “Eighty-six.”

 

“All right then, in sixty years you can lecture me on falling in love with a mortal.”

 

“Love?” she asks, but he doesn’t have time to get pulled into her particular brand of discourse.

 

So he says, “Sixty years, Catarina. Whatever you or I want to call it, I will face this then. Not now. Not today. Will you please just try? For me?”

 

Her entire countenance softens with his words, washing away the more distasteful elements that never suited her to begin with. And as she pulls her white hair back into a ponytail in preparation of the work ahead, something softens in him as well.

 

He has lost so much over the course of his life, and Ragnor’s death in particular stung in ways he has not fully looked at, let alone dealt with. But as long as he has Catarina, there is still hope for him in this world.

 

He paces the room as the soft glow of her magic fills the air around Alec’s bed. And he knows that it is likely an annoyance to her, his constant movement, but his fingers are tingling in a way that feels bordering on dangerous, and so he must do something to release the energy.

 

There’s no way to tell how long this will take. It could be hours, or even days for all he knows. But when she stops what she’s doing after no more than thirty minutes and rises to her feet, he can feel the world crashing around him already.

 

“What is it?” he asks, unable to hide the tremor in his voice. “Why did you stop?”

 

“Because there is nothing I can do to help him, Magnus.”

 

“He is sick, Catarina. What do you mean there is nothing you can do to help?”

 

“That is the thing. He is _not_ sick. In fact, there is nothing wrong with him, technically speaking.”

 

He flicks his eyes hysterically between Alec, prone on the bed, and Catarina, if the flicking of eyes can even be considered hysterical, _technically speaking_.

 

“I am sorry, but I think I must have forgotten at least half of the English language, because the words that you are speaking simply do not make any sense to me.”

 

“He’s doing this to himself, Magnus.”

 

The words are a knife blade, buried in his abdomen.

 

“What do you mean he is doing this to himself?” he asks, but a part of him is sick over the fact that he thinks he already knows exactly what she means.

 

“Look, I don’t mean to imply that your boyfriend is consciously trying to kill himself, though you know him better than I do. Perhaps that’s his _thing_.”

 

_“Catarina_.”  

 

“He’s looking for something, Magnus, and he is holding on too tightly in the process. Until he lets go, he will not wake up.”

 

“What if he never lets go?”

 

She shrugs and averts her eyes, looking just to the left of his face when she says, “I don’t know, Magnus.”

 

“Do not lie to me. You just told me that the man I… you just told me that _Alec_ is doing this to himself, that he needs to let go if he wants to wake up, but what does that _mean_?”

 

She meets his eyes briefly before darting them away again, her arms reaching up to cross over her chest as she locks down inch-by-inch in front of him.

 

So he grabs her shoulders and leans down to look her directly in the eye, force her to look back as he says, “Catarina, _please_.”

 

She uncrosses her arms so she can raise her hands and place them over his, her eyes full of a sadness he cannot bear to see right now when she replies, “He’s holding on to a whirlwind, Magnus.”

 

She pauses, letting the image sink through the layers of fear and guilt clouding his vision before adding, “Eventually, the whirlwind will win.” 

 

“And what… what happens when it does?”

 

Desperation is filling him up quickly, pushing through his blood, settling into his marrow. And even though he knows what she’s going to say he still needs to hear the words.

 

“I am sorry, dear friend.”

 

“No,” he bites out, his fingers shaking as he removes them from her shoulders. But when he says the word a second time it is louder, more powerful, the anger and frustration he’s been feeling for days boiling over with the harsh word, “ _NO_.”

 

Every single thing in the room made of glass shatters at the exact same moment, but he doesn’t hear it happen because there is a storm raging inside his head. He sees it, though, like a rain shower of fine powder and broken shards as his body quakes from the power rushing to the surface.

 

“ _Magnus_ ,” she says, but her voice is coming from beneath a great ocean, blue as the color of her skin, deep and dark. And he feels the undertow again, dragging him ever downward, until her hands move to his neck.

 

Something tugs when her magic seeps into his skin, and slowly but surely she brings him back up, back out into the light. His skin clammy and frozen when he pleads with ragged breath, “There must be some other way. Something else that we can do. Anything else.”

 

“Magnus-”

 

He grips her wrists tightly. “I will do _anything_ , Catarina.”

 

But her eyes are still unyielding, her entire being unrelenting as she says, “I am truly sorry, but there is nothing else. This is his choice. He is the only one that can make it.”

 

She kisses his cheek at that and leaves him to his destruction. The one he can feel like the whirlwind Alec is supposedly gripping as he crosses back to the bed and falls to his knees.

 

“Damn it, you stubborn Nephilim,” he says, his words no longer a whisper now that he knows there’s no way to disturb him. “ _Let go_. Come…”

 

He pauses, taking Alec’s hand in his, raising it to his lips so he can kiss the backs of his knuckles.

 

“Come back to me. We will find him, I promise. I will move heaven and earth to find him, if you would just _come back_.”

 

But Alec is still motionless, and Magnus wonders if it is because he cannot hear him, or because he does not want to listen.

 

He’s saved from walking too far down that path by the presence of another person in the room. And he’s hoping it’s Catarina, back with a fresh plan, but it is only Isabelle.

 

She says nothing to him, does not even look in his direction before she moves towards the area of the most damage, a trash bin in her hand as she sinks to the floor to begin cleaning up the mess Magnus had made.

 

“Forgive my rudeness,” he says as he lets go of Alec’s hand so he can join her. “I can do that.”

 

She still will not look up at him, but her voice is at least kind when she says, “It’s okay. It gives me something to do.”

 

He joins her in the labor, because even though he could magic it all away in the blink of an eye, he wonders if perhaps it might not be beneficial for him to have something to do as well.

 

“I understand if you hate me,” he says as he places the remnants of a particularly gaudy vase into the bin, no doubt a gift from his parents in some sort of vain attempt to give his dreary room some life.

 

“Why would I hate you? It’s not your fault my brother is a stubborn ass.”

 

He raises an eyebrow as she finally looks up at him. But she merely shrugs.

 

“I was listening,” she says, and it’s not an apology, it’s simply a statement of fact. “He’ll never let go, not of Jace.”

 

“I know,” he says, the words sounding more forlorn than they have any right to, spoken in front of Alec’s sister, the very blood of his life.

 

She nods at him once and then returns to her work.

 

One of the victims of his destruction was a picture frame, the only one in the room by the looks of it. It is plain and black, just like everything else he owns. And it bears a picture of Alec, Jace and Isabelle on what is clearly Alec’s graduation day from the Academy.

 

He’s standing in between his siblings, beaming at the camera as Isabelle curls into his side and Jace places a hand solidly on his shoulder. And it strikes Magnus how impossibly young Alec looks in the photograph.

 

It could not have been more than four, perhaps five years ago, but he has changed so much since then that he is almost unrecognizable. Like in that short amount of time the world has somehow managed to steal more from him than it deserved. And if his heart weren’t already shattered into as many pieces as the glass surrounding them, it would break at that realization.

 

He waves his hand over the frame to repair the glass before handing it to Isabelle. And the way she caresses it, trailing her fingers over the image of her brother’s smiling face, makes him wish he could go back in time, never meet Alec even if that’s what it would take to give him back to her.

 

“He was third in his class,” she says, her lips tugged into half of a smile.

 

“That is impressive.”

 

She snorts, half humor, half contempt. “Not to our parents it wasn’t. I was fifth.”

 

“Ah, so two extra ticks of disappointment then?” he asks, surprised at how calm his voice sounds right now, as if something of her strength is bleeding into him as well.

 

She’s smiling when she looks up at him, but there’s a sadness in her eyes he’s seen on her brother’s face too many times to count.

 

“They would’ve had to care enough about me in the first place to be disappointed.”

 

Another bitter laugh escapes before she clutches the frame to her chest like a life preserver and says, “He’s all I have. Him and Jace, and Max. But Alec… We’ll… we’ll find a way, right?”

 

His body sags with the sigh that works through every one of his tired muscles. “If there is a way to be found, I assure you that we will find it.”

 

“You sound like a politician.”

 

His laughter is surprising, in this place, at this moment. But it’s not entirely unwelcome as he smiles genuinely back at her.

 

“I never was very good at getting up the hopes of others. My own, on the other hand.”

 

“He likes you,” she says, as if she thought he was fishing for a compliment. “Or. Well. More than likes. Likes sounds so... simple. He smiles, though. _Real_ smiles. The kind he used to have when we were kids.”

 

Even though it cuts him to hear these things, he loves how she talks about him like there’s no doubt in her mind they’ll get him back. He only wishes he’d been as strong as her in his four days of solitude. Perhaps if he had, he would have stayed sober long enough to find a solution.

 

“I even caught him humming the other day. I didn’t know he knew what music was,” she says, and her eyes light up at her words in a way that is all too familiar with him.

 

He’s taken to thinking of it as the Alec Light, the one that presses from every inch of his soul in such a way that it overtakes all that is in its path, assimilating it until the entire world is shrouded in the sunlight radiating from his hazel eyes.

 

“I thought someone should tell you that, how he smiles now. Given his insane levels of emotional constipation, it could be years before he gets up the nerve to tell you.”

 

The word _years_ sticks in his chest, sprouts roots that dig deep. And the promise of life there is so oppressive that he almost can’t get his voice out enough to say, “He makes me smile, too.”

 

“Thank you.”

 

He tips his head at her in confusion. “For what?”

 

She bites the corner of her lip and casts her eyes briefly to the ground before raising them again, as brave as ever.

 

“For seeing him. For… for _finding_ him.”

 

He reaches out to tuck her hair behind her ear.

 

“My darling girl, I will _always_ find him.”

 

It’s a bold declaration, one he can’t even properly fathom the meaning of. And yet it feels like the truest thing he may have ever spoken. Like his life was just a series of wasted lies up until this very moment.

 

“I’m going to hold you to that,” she says. And judging by the fire burning from some place just behind her eyes, he knows it’s the truth.

 

Never in a million years did he think he’d find something to love about a Lightwood, much less two. But Magnus doesn’t throw promises around easily, and right now, the Lightwood siblings own the only two that matter.

 

_I would do anything for you._

 

And, _I will always find him._


	5. Panache

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> They say that when you hit rock bottom, there is no place to go but up, whoever they are. But Magnus has lived long enough to know that’s not strictly true.

They say that when you hit rock bottom, there is no place to go but up, whoever _they_ are. But Magnus has lived long enough to know that’s not strictly true.

 

No matter how far down you go, there is always more bottom. It’s just that sometimes you need to dig a little to find it.

 

He wishes he could talk to Ragnor. He would never admit that his dear friend was a more powerful warlock than he, mostly because he certainly was _not_ , but Ragnor _was_ older. So if anyone would know another way to pull Alec out of this pit of their creation, he would have simply because he walked this planet long enough to have heard of everything.

 

And he was always better at staying sober. There have been entire decades Magnus has completely forgotten due to the allure of alcohol.

 

He spends a few hours trying to conjure him, both with magic and the shouting of lies and insults. _Ragnor Fell is a pompous fraud who smells like old cheese and sewer gas_ , that sort of thing. But nothing works, probably because he was never real in the first place, but rather some grief-aided hallucination of Magnus’ trying to buck him up on the day of Alec’s wedding.

 

He slips next into hours of deep thought, none of which are helpful until he cycles back around to Ragnor and is struck with the realization that he still has in his possession The Book of the White.

 

If that book contained spells that could both put Jocelyn into and get her out of a coma, maybe it has something that will work for Alec.

 

He supposes that discovering a spell entitled, “My Reckless Nephilim Boyfriend with an Unresolved Savior Complex Just Got Himself Stuck Inside the Raging Storm of His Own Subconscious and He Needs a Way Out” is too much to ask. But he checks the index, just in case.

 

Surprisingly, no such spell exists. But that doesn’t stop him from trying another half dozen ridiculous attempts before giving up and starting at page one.

 

Perhaps what he really needs is to stop drinking.

 

He hasn’t been able to lie on his couch since the night of the spell, but luckily for him his entire loft is furnished with only the finest pieces the world’s craftsmanship has to offer. But even still, he spends so much time reading that by the end of it all his body feels as stiff as a board.

 

He’s almost to the end of the book when he finds it and at first, he thinks he’s imagining it. Any alcohol consumed recently has already been thinned from his blood, so his delirium is more from lack of sleep and far too much caffeine. His eyes are so blurry and his head is so _furry_ that he has to read it five times just to make sense of the words. But once he does, he’s flooded with excitement.

 

He calls Catarina immediately, unaware of what time of day or night it even is. Because he doesn’t care about anything else right now apart from sharing his newfound discovery.

 

He doesn’t even say hello, he just spits the words, “The Seal of Fate,” out as soon as she picks up like he thinks she’ll know exactly what he’s talking about.

 

Silence is all that meets him.

 

“Did you hear me, Catarina? This isn’t the time for phone games. I found a spell in The Book of the White called The Seal of Fate and I think… I think it might actually work.”

 

“Where are you?”

 

That… is an odd question.

 

“Why?”

 

“Magnus, _where are you_? You’re not at the Institute, are you?”

 

He looks around the room as if he has to assure himself of the answer.

 

“No, I am in my loft. In my pajamas, actually, and a rather smart silk robe. Deep crimson, my favorite color to lounge in. Why do you care where I am?”

 

“Don’t move. I’ll be right there.”

 

She hangs up on him, which he might find rude if he weren’t too busy finding every other moment of that conversation _odd_.

 

He is completely suspicious and one hundred percent convinced of nefarious intent by the time she arrives, which is why he is standing in front of her portal with his arms crossed tightly over his chest as she emerges.

 

“So when you said that you didn’t know of another way, am I to take that to mean you actually knew but had no intention of telling me?”

 

Because she is a good friend, she doesn’t deny his accusation.

 

Because she is a _not so good_ friend, she’s guilty of the exact thing he’s accusing her of.

 

“Are you honestly going to get on my case for lying? _You_? Magnus Bane, King of Subterfuge?”

 

“When have I ever lied to you?”

 

“Would you like me to make a list? It could take a while. And a lot of paper. You don’t happen to have a couple hundred reams lying around, do you?”

 

He shakes his head and waves one hand wildly in front of her face. “Stop trying to distract me. What do you know about the Seal of Fate?”

  

“You cannot do this, Magnus.”

 

“That doesn’t even remotely resemble an answer to my question.”

 

“The Seal of Fate is an incredibly dangerous spell, that’s what I know about it,” she says, finishing with a rather impressive huff.

 

“But it could work. If I bind myself to him-”

 

“There is no guarantee that it will pull you inside wherever he is.”

 

“But it _could._ ”

 

“It’s a battlefield spell, Magnus. It was meant to tie you to your enemy so in the event that they killed you, they’d be killing themselves, too. It’s not meant for something like this.”

 

He feels something tickle up his spine when she says that, a flourish of excitement that makes him feel like finding a pole so he can twirl around it in glee.

 

“But it could work.”

 

“Magnus, you’re not listening to me.”

 

“No, I am listening to you. I’m just choosing to ignore what you are saying because you’re not answering my questions in a satisfactory manner.” 

 

He’s practically bouncing like a child now, full of a dangerous cocktail of caffeine and hope. And even Catarina’s sour, unhelpful attitude cannot deter him.

 

“Fine, yes, are you happy? The spell, theoretically, _could_ work. But it could also just kill you when he dies.”

 

He waves his hand again and _pffts_.

 

“It’s only temporary, that part I understood. It’s only supposed to last a short while, which lends credence to your battlefield theory. It would be sort of silly to bind oneself to one’s mortal enemy for all of eternity.”

 

“He doesn’t seem like he has very long to live, Magnus. _Temporary_ might be all it takes.”

 

There’s a cold chill in his bloodstream, but his voice is still energetic when he says, “All the more reason to do this now.”

 

“No, all the more reason to forget you ever read that stupid spell in the first place.”

 

“I did this to him, Catarina. I am in this whether you want me to be or not.”

 

She actually stomps her foot at that, which he might find adorable if she weren’t in the process of lecturing him.

 

“You most certainly did not do this to him. You did him a favor because you love him. A rather foolish favor, and one he never should have asked of you in the first place, but that’s all it was. Something you have done countless times in your life. You provided him with a service. Any blame beyond that rests solely on him. And there is no reason why you should have to die for his mistake.”

 

“So does that mean you won’t help me?”

 

She growls at him, which is an interesting sound to escape someone so blue.

 

“No, Magnus, I will not help you. I’m saying to you what you should have said to him: I love you, but I will not let you throw your life away, and I certainly will not aid in said… _throwing._ ”

 

His voice is quiet and low when he says, “I did say that to him.” Their argument in the Institute fresh in his mind even though it feels as if it occurred a lifetime ago.

 

“Well then you should have meant it, as I do.”

 

A cold silence fills the air around them, thickening to a sticky paste that coats his lungs. They are at an impasse, something they rarely see with one another. Neither one of them is sure of what to say and so they simply stand there awkwardly, saying nothing.

 

“You should probably go,” he supplies eventually. “The sun is either about to rise or set and I cannot remember the last time I shut my eyes for longer than a blink.”

 

“Magnus, please-”

 

“It is fine, Catarina. I will be _fine._ ”

 

He sounds resigned as she takes one of his hands in hers, and it makes him long for the childish excitement of a few moments ago.

 

“I know that I cannot stop you from doing this, but I am begging you to consider what you’re thinking of doing. I know it is difficult to hear, but his life is likely already forfeit. There is no reason why you should go with him. It accomplishes nothing. And if he cares for you even a fraction of how much you seem to already care for him, then he would not want you to do it.”

 

“Don’t you see?” he asks, placing his free hand on the outside of hers so he can pull them all to his chest. “That’s exactly why I _should_ do it.”

 

“What do you mean?”

 

“Do you know how I met him?”

 

She pulls both of her hands free from his grip and crosses her arms over her chest. “I’m going to go out on a limb and say that it was not while you were out clubbing.”

 

“Well, the first time I saw him was technically at a club, but he certainly wasn’t there to have fun. When we met later that evening, though, it was while the lair was being attacked by Valentine’s forces. He and his friends came and risked their lives to save our kind.”

 

He leaves out the part about how they initially came for Magnus’ services because he fears it might scuttle his point.

 

“Shadowhunters, protecting Downworlders. And the next time I saw him? He willingly allowed me access to his strength, to his very _life_ in order to save that of a werewolf.”

 

“And how often have you done exactly that and more? He’s saved a few dozen lives, you’ve saved hundreds, perhaps even thousands.”

 

He waves his hand in the air for the third time this conversation.

 

“That’s only because I’ve been around longer. I assure you, if Alec were given a few centuries to live, he’d have a much higher tally of lives saved than I.”

 

She rolls her eyes at him and finishes it off with an impressive glare.

 

“I have seen him lay down his life for anything that sets foot in his path, Catarina, whether it’s a beloved family member or a complete stranger, without a single thought for his own well being. If anyone deserves to have someone step out on a limb for him, it’s Alec.”

 

“This isn’t a limb. It’s a _plank_.”

 

“And it is my choice to make. Isn’t that what you said about him?”

 

He grabs her shoulders and kisses the tip of her nose before running his fingers through the thin, soft strands of her hair.

 

“I appreciate that you care so much for my well being, but if he dies, I could not bear it.”

 

“Magnus, you have known this boy for what, a month? Stop acting like a lovesick teenager. You’re far too old for fairy tales about handsome princes and dragon slayers.”

 

“Am I the prince or the dragon slayer?”

 

Her arms rise forcefully to his shoulders, her grip so tight her fingers dig into bone. “You are the _dragon_. And everyone knows what happens to the dragon.”

 

“He falls in love with the prince and lives happily ever after?”

 

“Would you please be serious?”

 

“You first,” he says, but the way her eyes seem to be almost black at the moment makes him consider a slight course correction.

 

“It’s not that,” he says because it _isn’t._

 

“Or not entirely that anyways. If Alec were to step out in front of a bus tomorrow, it would be different. But I had a hand in this. I did something that I knew I shouldn’t do, played with magic I had no business playing with, and I pushed him over that edge.”

 

He cups her face in his hands.

 

“It’s not just about him dying, it’s about _me killing him_ , and that… that is not something I could stand, not unless I knew that I tried to do everything within my power to fix my mistake.”

 

When she turns her face into his palm, her own fingers dancing over the backs of his hands, his resolve starts to crack ever so slightly. But it’s not enough to deter him. Not on this.

 

“You won’t listen to me, will you?”

 

He smiles, just in case this is the last time he’ll have a chance to do that at her.

 

“I know that you are hoping there’s a first time for everything, but I sincerely doubt that first time is now.”

 

~*~ 

 

It is alarmingly difficult to get all of the ingredients for the spell, especially with the way Catarina took her head start on him to block as many paths as she could.

 

It seems as if the second she left the Institute, long before Magnus even thought to start reading The Book of the White, she was working against him. And he doesn’t blame her one bit. He probably would have done the same if he were in her shoes. He just wishes she weren’t so good at her job.

 

He’s been portaling all over the globe in search of what he needs, calling in favors left and right until almost an entire day has passed and he is finally down to the last one.

 

“You know it’s illegal to possess Seelie blood, which basically means it’s a capital offense to trade in it,” Raphael says, his eyes tired in a way that tugs at something deep in Magnus’ gut.

 

“I wouldn’t ask if it weren’t a matter of life or death.”

 

A flash of protective anger washes over Raphael’s face, which is cute, considering their history.

 

“Are you in trouble?”

 

“No, but Alec is.”

 

He scoffs, a particularly obnoxious habit Magnus was never able to break him of no matter how hard he tried.

 

“The Lightwood boy? This is for the Nephilim? Don’t they ever solve their own problems anymore?”

 

“Please, Raphael. I wouldn’t ask if I wasn’t desperate. Catarina has managed to cut off every last avenue for me. I’m surprised she didn’t come to you first, in fact, only maybe she doesn’t know about Camille’s… tastes.”

 

“I heard about the wedding.”

 

That is a rather odd thing for him to say at a time like this.

 

“You do know that it wasn’t _my_ wedding, right? It’s not like I could have invited you.”

 

“Very funny, Magnus.”

 

He squints his eyes and tries to read the issue in the hard lines of Raphael’s face.

 

“So you’re hurt that I didn’t call you and tell you that I finally got to kiss the boy I liked?”

 

For the second time in two days, one of his oldest friends growls at him. Except maybe technically Raphael’s is more of a hiss.

 

“The whole Downworld is buzzing about it, that was my point. You can’t go anywhere without hearing about that or Valentine like all anyone cares to gossip about is Shadowhunter soap opera garbage. No offense.”

 

“None taken.”

 

“When did their world become our problem?”

 

His careful study finds its mark, the new lines etched in Raphael’s skin ever since he took over the clan. And he understands where he’s coming from. High Warlock isn’t just a fancy name, it’s a duty, one that now Raphael knows all too well. So he gets it. But he also has very little time to indulge this topic of conversation.

 

“Alec does not deserve to die, Raphael.”

 

“None of us do either. But that won’t stop Valentine from killing every last one of us.”

 

“They are not all the same and you know it. Alec is good. Alec will _help_. He has the potential to be a real leader, one that cares about the affairs of the Downworld. And not just because he finds me unbearably attractive,” he says in response to the sullen glare Raphael is trying to pull, as if his pout still has any effect on Magnus after decades of being subjected to it.

 

“He didn’t seem to care so much when he was killing my people.”

 

“They weren’t yours at the time, they were Camille’s, and you know he only did that because of Simon. You would have done the same if they’d taken one of yours.”

 

Something flickers in his expression when Simon is mentioned, part betrayal but part something else as well. And if he didn’t know better, he might think it was fondness. But he doesn’t have time to investigate the matter further, not when the word _temporary_ is still swirling in his mind.

 

He is willing to risk death to do this spell, to _try_ , but that doesn’t mean he wants to die.

 

“Do it for me, do it out of the goodness of your heart, or do it because of the potential to have a leader at the New York Institute that sees you as more than a monster he has to tolerate. I don’t care why you do it just please, do it.”

 

Raphael twists his face up like he’s thinking good and hard before blowing a stubborn breath out of his nose.

 

“On one condition.”

 

“Name it.”

 

“If whatever stupid plan you’ve concocted goes belly up, I get your loft.”

 

Magnus smiles, the deep one that only someone he practically raised can call up from him.

 

“It’s a deal.”

 

The bag of chilled blood sends tiny shivers trailing up his arms as he holds it in his hands and allows Raphael to walk him out.

 

“I’m proud of you,” he says.

 

But all Raphael says in response is a bitter, “No.”

 

“No, I’m not proud of you?”

 

Raphael stops walking so he can sigh deeply and pinch the bridge of his nose.

 

“No, I’m not listening to your death speech. Save it for someone who hasn’t seen you cheat the grave more times than he can count. You’re taking me out to dinner next Friday. I get to pick the place.”

 

“Raphael, you don’t eat and I have a boyfriend. You probably could too, if you wanted.”

 

A nerve has been struck, and Magnus very much wishes he had the time to press it.

 

“I hate you,” Raphael says. But Magnus just laughs.

 

“I know that to be factually untrue. I have the homemade birthday card to prove it.”

 

“You did not keep that.”

 

“Oh, I most certainly did. It is one of my prized possessions. I even have the poem memorized.”

 

A slight smile threatens to crack Raphael’s otherwise hardened veneer.

 

“There wasn’t a poem.”

 

“Wasn’t there? I distinctly remember poetry.”

 

“Go to hell.”

 

“I thought we were already there?”

 

There’s a moment where he fears the joke has pushed things too far, but on the other side of that moment Raphael is softening again, as much as someone like him is capable of being soft.

 

“We’re not going to that Ethiopian place. It reeks of werewolves.”

 

“I never smelled them.”

 

“Well, you wouldn’t.”

 

“Poor child of the night, cursed with the gift of super scent detection. New York subways must be a real treat for you. Good thing you run everywhere you go.”

 

Almost as if to prove his statement on speed, Raphael is on him in a flash, his arms wrapped around Magnus’ torso so tight it cuts off his breath.

 

He is getting so many hugs lately he doesn’t know what to do with them all. It’s like getting to go to your own funeral only you’re still tangible enough to feel it.

 

“If you get yourself dead over a Nephilim, you’re never going to live it down,” he says into Magnus’ shoulder.

 

“The surprise ending to a rather long tale. I’m assured that everyone loves a twist.”

 

Raphael pulls back at that, the slight trace of worry in his expression disappearing before Magnus has a chance to etch it into his memory, which is probably for the best.

 

“Take care of yourself,” Raphael says as he shoves his hands into his pockets and nods tightly at him.

 

“You too, my boy.”

 

“Stop calling me that.”

 

Magnus smiles and begins skipping backwards in a way that must look ridiculous, which is exactly what he is going for as he calls the word, “Never!” back to Raphael.

 

It puts a smile on Raphael’s face, which is the precise way he was hoping to leave this, just in case.

 

~*~

 

It takes hours to make the potion, mostly because he’s being so careful that he double then triple then _quadruple_ checks every step before he does it.

 

The last bit he needs is a hair from Alec’s head. Which, if he scoured his apartment enough, he’s almost certain he could find at least one lying around somewhere. But he wants to be physically close to Alec when he does this, even though there’s nothing in the spell that deems that necessary. And so he takes the risk of sneaking back into the Institute, one final time.

 

No one tries to stop him, which is a blessing on a day like today.

 

“I’m sorry if this hurts,” he says, as if having a single hair pulled from his scalp is the greatest of Alec’s pains right now. And the potion turns a lovely shade of chartreuse when he drops the hair into it, the follicle evaporating in the liquid, which means that it is complete.

 

The only thing left is to drink up, and Magnus has always been an expert at drinking.

 

He sits on the floor next to Alec’s bed, reaching behind him to grab Alec’s arm, drape it over his chest so he can hold Alec’s palm to his heart. But his own hand is still shaking when he puts the potion to his lips.

 

 _It is now or never_ , he thinks. And he’s too far down the rabbit hole to even consider _never_.

 

He thinks Catarina must be exaggerating. He’s been through so many awful things in his life, how bad can one potion really be?

 

It starts off well, actually, in a way that makes him wonder if any of the ingredients had alcohol in them. He feels dizzy and a little giddy. And he reasons that it must be the Seelie blood, like there are angels dancing around playing harps in his mind.

 

This would be a marvelous way to kill someone. Trick them into liking it so much they’ll thank you for it in the end. Please, Sir, may I have another glass of your murder juice? And the thought makes him giggle. That is, until round two begins.

 

When the rest of the potion takes effect his first thought is: I hope this was not a mistake.

 

His second thought is: Why can’t I feel my legs?

 

And his third thought…

 

Well, his third thought is really more of a scream than an actual thought. 

 

This was perhaps a mistake after all. Not because Alec isn’t worth a little pain, but more because if he dies from being poisoned by Seelie blood and the liver of a three-horned toad, he’ll be of no use to anyone, least of all Alec. But there’s no sense in dwelling on that now, not when his blood feels as if it is literally hardening in his veins.

 

He has never been turned into a statue before, but he imagines this is exactly how all of Medusa’s victims felt. 

 

He wonders vaguely if he should at least pick a flattering pose, but before he can run through the options his magic starts going haywire. And because he is screaming uncontrollably, he has drawn a crowd.

 

Blue lightning is sparking off every inch of his exposed skin, causing small fires around Alec’s room that thankfully fizzle out as soon as they are away from him. And through it all his veins just continue to harden as the poison makes its way efficiently to his heart.

 

Poison. Potion. What’s the difference at this point?

 

Isabelle is there a few moments later, shoving through the onlookers. And so panic is now present amidst the flurry of other unhelpful, terrifying emotions warring inside Magnus’ solidifying chest.

 

“Stay back,” he manages to gasp as the hand not clutching Alec’s raises to warn her away.

 

“I cannot control it. I don’t want to hurt you.”

 

She comes anyway because she is a Lightwood, and as she crouches down next to him that inexplicable fondness makes a feeble attempt at pressing through the din.

 

One of her hands reaches for the empty glass he dropped at his side while the other reaches out to cup his face as blue fire dances around her.

 

“What did you do?”

 

He shakes his head because that is not important now.

 

“Find… find Catarina Loss,” he says instead as the cement works its way down his biceps, up past his collarbone. “Beth… Beth Israel… hospital. Tell her… Tell her I’m sorry.”

 

“Magnus, _what did you do_?”

 

In spite of how his arm literally feels like it’s made of lead, he still raises it so that he can trail his fingers gently over her cheek.

 

“I kept my promise.” 

 

It’s at his throat now, choking back the scream that wants to do everything in its power to escape as he feels each of his last heartbeats thudding in his chest like a drum. And as everything around him slips to black, he thinks:

 

_As last words go, at least I went out with a little panache._

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> MAGNUS IS NOT DEAD. I don’t mean to put a spoiler on my own story, but I wanted to make sure that no one thought they were duped into reading a death!fic. No dead Magnus here! Long live Magnus Bane!


	6. Sepia Toned Hellscape

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> In the history of the word surprised, there is likely no one more surprised than Magnus Bane when he realizes he is, in fact, not dead.

In the history of the word _surprised_ , there is likely no one more surprised than Magnus Bane when he realizes he is, in fact, not dead.

 

At least he thinks he isn’t. There’s always the chance that this is heaven. Though judging by the drab, washed out colors and oppressive silence, it’s no heaven he would choose. And given that he is not currently on fire, it’s likely not the other place either.

 

It looks an awful lot like Idris, if someone came along and took the buildings and people out. And he’s not entirely sure why the potion brought him here until his aimless wanderings lead him to a small clearing in the middle of the woods.

 

When he sees Alec, sitting in the grass, his knees pulled up to his chest and an almost serene look on his face, a wave of relief crashes over him so powerfully he almost can’t move.

 

As he sits down next to Alec, the grass is soft and slightly damp, just as Alec’s hair had been.

 

“Lovely ceremony,” he says in reference to the scene before them. A small gathering of semi familiar faces surrounding a young Alec and Jace in what appears to be their parabatai ceremony.

 

Alec looks at him, but even before he speaks Magnus can tell that he misread the expression on his face.

 

It’s not serenity; it’s bewilderment.

 

“Do I know you?”

 

_Oh. That is unfortunate._

 

The confusion in his eyes is a haze that spreads to the rest of his face like he is little more than a shadow in this place. And he is not entirely sure what he had been expecting, but this isn’t it.

“I’m an old friend of the family. Do you know them?” Magnus asks, nodding his head at where Jace and Alec are drawing the runes on one another.

 

“I think… I think I _am_ one of them,” Alec says as he squints his eyes into the sun. “I think this is my ceremony but I can’t… I can’t...”

 

When he coughs a few times, Magnus places a hand lightly on his arm that seems to steady him.

 

“How old were you?”

 

“Sixteen. No… wait. I was… I am seventeen. I don’t know why I said sixteen.”

 

He’s beginning to feel Alec’s emotions now, seeping into his veins like the potion had. Only instead of freezing him, they seem to be setting his skin ablaze from the inside out.

 

For someone who always appears so stoic, Alec feels things with an intensity that is almost unbearable.

 

As if in reaction to the fire coursing vicariously through Magnus’ body, Alec gets to his feet and begins pacing. His fingers pulling anxiously at his own hair as he digs the heels of his hands into his head, shuts his eyes and twists his lips into something bordering on agony.

 

“Alec, what’s wrong?” Magnus asks, getting to his feet as well but being careful not to get too close. A habit he has apparently pulled with him from the outside world.

 

Alec is not a feral creature, but there has always been something broken about him. Something that, from the beginning, Magnus has feared he might shatter entirely if he pushed too hard, touched too soon, _wanted too much_.

 

“I’m supposed to be… I think I’m supposed to be doing something. Or going somewhere? I don’t know I just-”

 

Alec’s ramblings are interrupted by a series of hacking coughs that force him to double over.

 

“I can’t… can’t breathe… I can’t…”

 

The coughing only gets worse the longer it progresses, like he is drowning on dry land. But when Magnus reaches out for him, Alec casts him one last helpless look and disappears, slipping through his fingers like rain.

 

~*~

 

Once he manages to compose himself, he wanders for a while until he sees a house in the distance. It is the only one in sight, which clearly means that’s where he’s supposed to go. But his footsteps are still hesitant as he makes his way to the stately manor before him.

 

He doesn’t know how Alec’s subconscious works, why only pockets of images are here while the rest of the world fades into the background like shadows in the mist. But even without the fact that there is literally only one place visible for him to go, he’d still be able to find him.

 

All he has to do is follow the ache.

 

The closer he gets to Alec, the more he feels Alec’s pain like he is some sort of homing beacon of agony. And he knew this would be difficult, that whatever he faced in here would not be easy or else he wouldn’t be _needed_. But having visceral confirmation of the misery lurking beneath the sarcasm, raised eyebrows and scoffs of derision was not at all what he envisioned.

 

He moves slowly through the house as if it is a sacred monument, but there’s no one here. It isn’t until he walks into the kitchen, stone cold and unfeeling, and looks out the back window that he finally sees Alec.

 

He is standing in the middle of a spacious yard backed to a small hill that rolls up into what appears to be an early morning sun. His hands at his sides as he stares at two small children sitting under a giant oak tree.

 

He doesn’t bother introducing himself this time, but that is only because he does not wish to hear Alec ask who he is again.

 

“Your mother sent me to check on you,” he says, watching as the younger version of Alec scooches a few hesitant inches closer to where a very small Jace is curled into a tight ball in the grass. “How are they doing?”

 

“He’s only ten,” Alec says by way of response, his eyes blank as he casts them to Magnus. “His dad just died. He’s only ten.”

 

“It’s okay to cry, you know,” the younger Alec’s voice carries to them on the wind as he wraps one arm shakily around the small, shivering version of Jace. But Jace just shoves him away.

 

“I wasn’t crying.”

 

Alec reacts as if he was just the one shoved, not the younger version of himself. And it makes Magnus reach down and take his hand.

 

Alec startles, but he doesn’t pull away. He just casts his eyes down to where their hands are entwined and whispers, “Magic,” into the cold morning air.

 

There’s a surge of something in Magnus’ chest, pushing through the gnarled scar tissue of Alec’s emotions. And he almost convinces himself that it is hope until Alec begins coughing once again.

 

It is over far quicker this time, but Magnus swears that he can feel water in his own lungs long after Alec is gone.

 

~*~

 

He tries not talking to Alec at all the third time, in the hopes that maybe he can keep from triggering his ghastly disappearance. He simply stands close enough to hear the memory but far enough away to go unnoticed.

 

They are older this time, he and Jace, bearing the appearance of the boys in the picture whose glass he’d shattered only a short while ago. And they are lying in the middle of the woods, staring up at the stars.

“It’s got to be forty degrees out here,” Alec says through chattering teeth.

 

Jace snorts. “That’s not even freezing, man. It’s like, eight degrees away.”

 

“ _Like_ eight degrees?”

 

Jace elbows Alec in the side, which causes something warm but unwelcome to flush through Magnus’ body.

 

“Fine, exactly eight degrees, math wizard.”

 

“It’s still pretty damn cold.”

 

When Jace rolls onto his side to look at Alec, the older version of him tenses in Magnus’ periphery.

 

“You’re graduating soon, Alec. There aren’t going to be many more chances for us to do this. So stop complaining.”

 

Alec smiles, both of them probably, until two more people join their party.

 

It’s a pair of girls, young and pretty. And the deep ache that Magnus feels at their presence, coupled with the undeniable scorch of self-loathing makes him wish he’d met Alec sooner, if only so he could have told him that there was nothing wrong with him.

 

That it was okay to _feel._

 

“You coming or what?” Jace asks as he bounds to his feet, taking an arm of each girl in one of his own. But Alec simply remains prone on the ground, his eyes fixed on the moon.

 

“I’ll catch up.” 

 

“All right, but I can’t promise we’ll save you any of the booze!” Jace calls back over his shoulder. And the quiet left in his wake, echoing in Alec’s mind, is so heavy it makes Magnus’ chest tighten.

 

He’s so riveted by the image of a seventeen-year-old Alec spread out beneath the sky that he doesn’t know the other Alec, the real one, is watching him until he starts to move.

 

“I know you, don’t I?” he says as he approaches.

 

His voice sounds hollow, like it is coming from the bottom of a deep well. And his skin seems so thin in the moonlight that Magnus almost imagines he can see the bones beneath.

 

“Yes, you do Alec.”

 

“Why can’t I remember your name?”

 

He sighs deeply, but does his best to mask the sheer despair in his voice when he says, “I am not sure.”

 

“Are you here to help me?”

 

He’s right beside Magnus now, but it still sounds as if he is very, very far away.

 

“Yes, I am.”

 

“I need to find someone. Jace. I need to find Jace.”

 

“I know that, Alec.”

 

“But I… I don’t even know where I am.”

 

When the worry begins to work into his expression, the coughs come right along with it. Soft ones now, the start of the flood. But Magnus knows what is coming and so he steels himself to the inevitable.

 

“It is okay, Alec,” he says, placing one hand tentatively on Alec’s arm. “You don’t need to know where you are. That’s my job.”

 

Alec drags his eyes from Magnus’ hand up to his face. “What is?”

 

“To find you.”

 

He gulps. “And you will?”

 

“Always.”

 

“Ethiopian,” Alec says next, and the word is so random that for a moment, all Magnus can do is blink.

 

“What did you say?”

 

“There’s something,” Alec says as he fixes his eyes back on Magnus’ hand, still clasped to his arm. “Ethiopian.”

 

Before he can finish his thought, he reaches his free hand to his throat, gives three solid, deep coughs, and vanishes.

 

~*~

He finds Alec back at the house, only this time he’s inside, and he is alone. Which is a relief that Magnus cannot even put into words.

 

He’s sitting on the edge of what Magnus assumes was once his bed with a large, old book in his lap. And when he looks up at Magnus’ approach, there is actual life in his eyes for the first time all day.

 

“Magnus.”

 

The swell of hope is entirely Magnus’ own emotion.

“You remember me?” he asks, his voice cracking around the words as tears sting bitterly in his eyes.

 

“Um, yeah. Of course I remember you. Where are we?”

 

There’s a laugh in his tone now, brought up in response to the way Alec seems so very _Alec_ as he moves towards the bed and says, “I think we are in your childhood bedroom. Though it doesn’t seem as if your decorating choices have changed much over the years. What are you reading?”

 

“Huh?” he asks, his eyes dazed but still enough of _him_ to give Magnus the courage he’s been desperately lacking ever since he arrived in this place.

 

“The book,” he says, nodding at Alec’s lap.

 

Alec looks down, his eyebrows knitting together as he reads the words, “Sonnet 72,” like they are a question more than an answer.

 

“Ah, Shakespeare.”

 

“Yeah, I guess.”

 

“Mind if I?” Magnus asks as he sits next to Alec on the bed, so close that they are almost touching, and nods down at the book.

 

Alec gives it to him willingly with a shrug of his shoulders and a pursing of his lips that says _go for it_.

 

“O, lest the world should task you to recite,” Magnus reads, “what merit lived in me, that you should love after my death, -- dear love, forget me quite, for you in me can nothing worthy prove.”

 

He closes the book with a loud snap. “Well, that was depressing. I didn’t know you liked him.”

 

“Don’t tell me, you slept with him too?” Alec responds as he bumps Magnus’ shoulder with his own. A shy, crooked smile playing across his lips in a way that makes Magnus want to grab his hand and pull him out of this place once and for all.

 

He simply laughs, though. Because Alec isn’t drowning yet, and he doesn’t want to risk shattering the moment until he absolutely has to.

 

“Sadly, our paths never crossed. Though I have heard stories. You like him though?”

 

“Not his poems so much,” Alec says, looking at the book now lying in Magnus’ lap like he doesn’t know why he had it in the first place. “But some of his plays.”

 

“Let me guess, _Hamlet_ is your favorite?”

 

He ducks his head shyly and twists his fingers in his lap. “Actually, I always kind of liked _Titus Andronicus_.”

 

“Isn’t that the one where they make the woman eat her own children?”

 

He runs his hand over the back of his neck and ducks away even further. “Um… yeah?”

 

“That’s-”

 

“Messed up?” Alec finishes for him.

 

This time, he bumps Alec’s shoulder. “I was going to say charming.”

 

The way Alec laughs at his response makes his chest literally flutter.

 

“No you weren’t.”

 

“You’re right; I wasn’t,” he says with a genuine smile playing at his lips. But it fades away when Alec speaks again.

 

“Why are we here?”

 

He sighs. “You don’t remember?”

 

“No. I feel like… like there’s something I’m supposed to be doing but I can’t… I can’t place… can’t put-”

 

Magnus places his hand on Alec’s wrist, lighter than all the times before, just in case. “What’s the last thing you remember?”

 

Alec turns his hand, but instead of pulling away he simply does it so that he can twist his fingers in Magnus’.

 

“Kissing you.”

 

Magnus’ throat is dry and tacky when he asks, “On the balcony?”

 

There’s a wash of confusion in Alec’s eyes, though, when he looks up at him. “What balcony? No, at the wedding.”

 

“Fascinating,” Magnus replies because he simply cannot think of a better word to describe it.

 

“Why is that fascinating?”

 

“Alec, that… that was a while ago. Some things have happened since then.” 

 

He can feel Alec’s fear begin to rise in his own chest, and it makes him heavily reconsider the course of action he’s chosen to take here.

 

“What happened?” Alec asks, but in the end, Magnus can’t think of anything to be apart from honest.

 

“Well, the most pressing issue is that Jace left with Valentine.”

 

“ _What_?”

 

The word is a sharp bark as he pulls his hand away and rises to his feet. And everything in the room, in Magnus’ body, in the _world_ drops a few dozen degrees instantly.

 

“It’s all right, though,” Magnus tries to soothe as he gets to his feet as well, holding his hands out in something akin to supplication. “We are here to find him.”

 

The pacing begins, beating in time to Magnus’ rapidly thudding heart.

 

“How are we going to find him here?”

 

“That has yet to be determined.”

 

“He’s not… Magnus, why would he do that? Why would he go with Valentine? He’ll… he’ll kill him. He’ll _die_ , and… and…”

 

When he starts coughing this time, a sharp sense of resolve settles deep inside of Magnus. Because he will be damned if he lets Alec disappear from him one more time.

 

“Alec,” he bites out, gripping Alec’s wrist tightly and yanking to get his attention. “Fight it. Stay _here_.”

 

“I… I…” he begins to stammer, just the one word, the one letter, over and over, mixed in with coughs that hack up out of him in uncontrollable spurts.

 

And Magnus feels delirious right now, lightheaded from the lack of Alec’s oxygen. Which is probably why he ends up doing what he does, because he simply doesn’t have the capacity to _think_ anymore.

 

So he lets go of Alec’s wrist, but only so he can use both of his hands to fist in Alec’s t-shirt, haul him downward into a kiss that ignites like a brushfire as soon as their lips touch.

 

He can actually physically feel Alec coming back into focus, but it’s still not enough. So he doubles down by slipping his hand into Alec’s pants. And like a bright light is being yanked back into his body, Alec breaks the kiss and hisses the word, “Fuck,” into the air between them.

 

Magnus hiccups out a few hysterical laughs.

 

“There you are.”

 

And he is right, there Alec is, fully solid with eyes that are alight again. And Magnus removes his hand from Alec’s pants at that because he is back now, and that is honestly all he was trying to do.

 

It’s not all Alec wants to do, though, judging by the keening whimper that escapes his lips before he drags Magnus back into the kiss Magnus started.

 

He truly was willing to just leave it alone, continue working the problem. But Alec pushes it. Literally pushes _him_ back into the wall. Or, well, the bookshelf anyway. And it hurts a little bit, the shelves that dig into the various sections of his back, but it comes with the added bonus of having Alec painted across the front of his body and so he’ll take it. 

 

The kiss is messy, haphazard, all hands and lips and frantic roaming until Alec grinds against him in a way that makes him see stars. And it is at that moment that he realizes uncomfortably that they are still in Alec’s childhood bedroom.

 

Magnus breaks the kiss just long enough to ask, “Could we maybe go some place else?”

 

Alec’s eyes are wild when they look down at him, flecked with hints of confusion. “Where?”

 

“Anywhere but the room you slept in when you were a child.”

 

“I don’t know… don’t know how to-”

 

He runs a finger gently over Alec’s lips to quiet him. “This is your subconscious, Alec, I’m pretty sure all you have to do is think it and we-”

 

Before he can even finish the sentence, they are in his loft. And it warms his heart that that’s the first place Alec thinks of because perhaps those musings of one day sharing a home with him aren’t as far fetched as he originally imagined.

 

It’s not a perfect recreation by any means. There are far too few decorations, and the entire scene is nowhere near as lavish as it should be. But he doesn’t blame Alec for missing the finer details given his level of _gray is the answer to everything._

 

When they stumble their way to the bedroom, Magnus notices with startling clarity that unlike everything else, the bed is an exact replica. Which, given how few times Alec has seen it, he might find strange if he weren’t so busy finding everything about Alec _overwhelming_ right now.

 

He’s delirious and giddy already as they tumble onto the bed. And he isn’t sure if it’s him that’s feeling it, or Alec, or both of them, doubling back over each other. But given the emotions that have been wafting off of Alec all day, this is vastly more than just a welcome respite.

 

Alec goes to remove his shirt first, but after fumbling with the buttons for a few shaky moments, he gives up all pretenses and rips it open. But the sharp bark of laughter that escapes him at Alec’s impatience is swallowed whole instantly in the way Alec’s hands feel against his skin.

 

His touch is soft at first, timid almost as his hands push up his chest, Alec’s eyes transfixed on what he’s doing like a part of him can’t seem to grasp that this is real. Or subconsciously real, anyway. And every part of Magnus’ body wants to press right now, push Alec down to the bed and enact every single fantasy he’s concocted over the last few weeks, but this is not about him and he knows it.

 

Later, it will be. If they make it out of this alive and if Alec wishes to stay with him, there will be plenty of time for all the laters in the world. But right now, this is about Alec. About the boy lying in the cold grass, staring up at the stars and hating every single inch of his own existence.

 

“Magnus,” he says, and the word is breathed almost like a prayer as he leans in and presses his lips gently to the skin just above Magnus’ heart. The one that seems patently incapable of staying intact whenever Alec is near it.

 

He cards his fingers through Alec’s hair, holding him briefly in the moment before Alec pushes his head back so he can once again find Magnus’ lips.

 

Everything moves quickly from that point onward. Magnus’ shirt is gone and then so is Alec’s, pulled over his head in one fluid motion that leaves his hair standing up in a hundred endearing directions. And then Magnus does press Alec to the bed, their bodies fitting together like they were made to do this, to _be this_ as Magnus slides on top of him.

 

He’s at a loss for what to do, how to make this good, because it’s deeply important to him that he does. That regardless of what happens after this moment, this _experience,_ at least he gave Alec something _good_. But the delirium is still threading through his veins, pumping in and out of a heart that seems intent on escaping his chest altogether, and so conscious thought and plans of action seem very, very far away from him.

 

He kisses his way down Alec’s body, dragging his teeth lightly over his ribs before unbuckling his belt and unbuttoning his pants. But before he goes any further he casts one final look up at Alec, just in case.

 

The heat in his eyes as he nods back at him is almost enough to send Magnus tumbling over the edge already. And as he slips Alec’s pants down his thighs, another needed decision presents itself.

 

He knows how to make this quick, and he knows how to make it last. But he is torn between the two options because on the one hand, this is likely Alec’s first time, and so he wants to make it memorable. But on the other hand, time itself is not exactly on their side and Magnus is still working under his own assumption that he does not want to die inside Alec’s subconscious.

 

So he opts for quickness in the end, reasoning that if Alec really has nothing to compare it to, he can always make it up to him later when they get out of this. 

 

Magnus takes care of himself because he only needs his mouth and one hand to accomplish the task before him. As much as he would love to feel Alec’s lips or hands or _anything_ on him right now, he seems far too out of it to oblige.

 

But Magnus is an excellent multi-tasker, and so right around the time Alec unleashes a string of expletives that result in him shuddering so hard Magnus worries he might hurt himself, he comes as well with a striking flash that turns everything in front of him such a harsh shade of white it’s practically blinding.

 

Alec is a complete and utter mess when Magnus finally regains his sight enough to look at him. His lips are swollen, his cheeks are flushed, and he looks completely destroyed in the best way imaginable.

 

Magnus has made many people bear that expression over the course of his long life, but never like this. Never anyone quite like Alec.

 

He kisses his way up Alec’s body, tracing all of the runes with his tongue as he moves as if he is thanking them for their hand in protecting Alec’s life. And the way Alec’s fingers twist softly in his hair makes Magnus feel like there is promise in life after all, waiting just on the other side of war. And so it is a war that Magnus will willingly fight if it means getting to spend Alec’s lifetime with him.

 

“It just figures that our first time would technically be unreal,” he says as he licks along the lines of a rune that either gives Alec keen eyesight or increased speed, he’s not entirely certain.

 

“Sure felt,” Alec says before pausing and shuddering when Magnus reaches the rune curled around his left side. “Sure felt real to me.”

 

“You know,” he hums, “that was technically a sex dream.”

 

A laugh escapes Alec that makes his entire body rumble underneath Magnus’ waiting lips.

 

“It’s official,” Magnus continues. “Alec Lightwood just had a sex dream about Magnus Bane.”

 

“Wouldn’t be the first time.”

 

There is a loud slapping sound as Alec removes his hands from Magnus’ hair so he can press them hard to his own face as he groans so deeply Magnus cannot help but smile. Alec’s words muffled by the presence of his hands when he asks, “Why did I say that out loud?”

 

Magnus’ only response is to tug Alec’s hands from his face so he can kiss him, and the way Alec moans into his mouth makes the word _time_ burn through his thoughts.

 

“What’s this one for?” he asks once he has returned to his study of Alec’s runes, his lips now playing with the one cutting up Alec’s neck that was the first thing that caught Magnus’ eye the night they met, shining in the light of the club as he’d bent over the Circle member he’d killed to save Magnus’ life.

 

He has had dreams solely of this rune, of placing his lips on it, tracing every inch of it with his tongue. And though he knows this is not technically real, it is better than any dream he ever could have conjured up on his own.

 

“Mmm… deflection,” Alec says, his voice liquid in a way that stirs something deep in Magnus’ gut.

 

Magnus laughs and breathes the words, “It is not working very well,” into the soft area just beneath Alec’s jaw.

 

He’s fairly certain he could stay here forever, doing this exact thing until the end of time. But he knows this cannot last, that every minute they spend in here is another minute they are dying out there. And so he forces himself to stop kissing Alec so he can rest his chin on Alec’s chest, look up into his eyes one last time, ask one final question before he leads them both back to reality.

 

“I wanted to ask,” he says, his voice almost shy, which is odd, given all that has occurred today. “Why did you pick here? I would have assumed you’d take us to your room at the Institute.”

 

Alec links his fingers behind his head so he can see Magnus more clearly. “I didn’t really _pick_ here.”

 

He twists his head so that his cheek is now resting just over Alec’s heart. “What do you mean?”

 

“I don’t know, it was like… it was like I just thought of the word _home_ and this is where it took us.”

 

There is nothing in existence that can keep Magnus from kissing him right now, his actions doing everything his words could never hope to as he holds onto Alec so tightly he’s not entirely sure how he’ll ever be able to let go.

 

“Wait,” Alec says a few breathless moments later, his hand reaching down for Magnus’ pants as he says in a tone that is adorably horrified, “I never did… I never did you.”

 

Magnus laughs. He may never stop laughing, in fact, as he takes Alec’s hand in his own and raises it to his lips.

 

“It’s all right, I took care of it myself. Besides, we should probably get back to work. I’d very much like to find Jace so that we could do this for real.”

 

The simple mention of Jace’s name breaks the spell so thoroughly that all that is left are shattered pieces of glass spread around them.

 

Proverbial glass this time, though, not the literal kind.

 

“Right,” Alec says as he leverages himself up to a sitting position, forcing Magnus to do the same. “Jace.”

 

He loses him fast this time, perhaps faster than all the others. In a blink, Alec’s legs are swinging over the side of the bed, his eyes wild for an entirely different reason now as he begins to choke. And Magnus is on his knees inside of a heartbeat, perched in front of Alec as his hands reach out to cup Alec’s face.

 

“You have to fight this, Alec. You have to _stay_. We will never figure this out if you _don’t stay_. ”

 

“Find me,” he chokes out, his eyes wide and pleading, full of terror. “Please… find me.”

 

And just like that, he is gone. 

 

~*~

 

Magnus is tired of this, so very sick and tired of chasing Alec through this sepia toned hellscape, pursuing a ghost they may never find.

 

One of the things he loves about Alec is that he never gives up, but incidentally it is also, at the moment, one of the things he hates about him as well.

 

He takes a few moments to himself to get dressed before casting one last look around his loft and heading outside. But as soon as he sets one foot past his building’s front door, that foot is completely drenched.

 

He doesn’t remember his loft being ocean front property, _literally_ , as Magnus’ foot is plainly sinking in the wet sand no more than an inch from his building’s stoop. But when he turns around to recheck his location, it is gone, and all that is left in its wake is a filthy, garbage-filled beach.

 

There is agitation coating his skin when he turns back to the water, but it is consumed by the fiery rush of terror when he catches sight of something a few dozen yards out.

 

When he catches sight of _Alec_ , face down and unmoving in the water.

 

He tries to use his magic at first, but it does not work here because _of course_ it doesn’t. Why should anything be easy in this place? And so he swims out to get him, his lungs burning and his muscles aching until Alec is finally back in his arms.

 

He refuses to acknowledge how blue Alec’s skin seems, choosing instead to believe that it only appears that shade because of the color of the water. The first actual color he’s seen all day outside of tan, taupe, and every other shade of bland in existence as he pins Alec beneath one arm so he can use the other to pull them back to shore.

 

Years ago, too many to count, he learned about CPR. It was a lark, something Catarina convinced him to do, but he’s grateful for her urgings right now as he lays Alec flat on the sand and desperately tries to pump the water out of his lungs while breathing air back into them.

 

Just when he is certain that he must have remembered it wrong, when he is certain that Alec is going to die here, in this moment, and take him with him, he begins coughing.

 

After everything they’ve been through, he never thought he’d actually _welcome_ that sound.

 

He rests a hand firmly on Alec’s back and drags him to a sitting position, pounding in between his shoulder blades to help him dislodge the rest of the salt water that had almost been the death of him. But there is something almost crazed in Alec’s expression when he finally stops hacking long enough to look at him.

 

“Alec, what’s wrong?”

 

He tips his head like a confused animal before saying, “Forty, sixteen, seventy-two, ten.”

 

This cannot be good.

 

“Alec, do you remember me?” he asks, his voice as soothing as he can make it, amidst all the fear, as he cups Alec’s face in his hands.

 

Alec just shakes him off, though, backing away from him before pulling his knees to his chest and saying, “Forty, sixteen, seventy-two, ten,” again like those are the only words he knows.

 

He starts rocking then, forward and backward, forward and backward, the numbers escaping his mouth in rhythm to his movement. And Magnus just watches him for a moment in open-mouthed shock because he cannot fathom what is going on here.

 

When Alec begins banging his head on his knees, Magnus reacts. But every time he tries to touch him, Alec just reaches out and pushes him back, the words, “Forty, sixteen, seventy-two, ten,” spit out at him like a warning.

 

“Alec, stop, please,” he begs, his hands hovering a few inches shy of touching. But he seems unplacateable. And so Magnus is almost wishing for him to choke back to vanishing if only so they can start again some place else.

 

Some place where Alec isn’t entirely broken.

 

“Alec,” he says because he doesn’t know what else to do apart from try.

 

“ _Alec!_ ”

 

In that moment, as if broken from a spell, something snaps. And when Alec’s eyes look up at him this time, locked directly on Magnus’, a shiver wracks Magnus’ body so hard he almost cannot hear Alec say:

 

“I know where he is.”


	7. Fire and Water

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Alec wakes up with Jace’s name burned into his throat. And for a solid minute, that’s the only thing he’s cognizant of.

Alec wakes up with Jace’s name burned into his throat. And for a solid minute, that’s the only thing he’s cognizant of.

 

There are images, slipping away from him fast. And he thinks he’s not alone, that there’s someone _there_ , or there was someone there, will be, _something_. But his head is pounding and his heart is pounding and Jace’s name is the beat behind the drum and he needs to _move_.

 

He opens his eyes to a ceiling he’s been staring at for years, cracked plaster and chipped paint. And it’s not what he was expecting. But what was he expecting? Where had he been? Some place else, right? He was some place else, with someone else, but he’s here now, in his room, in his bed, under his ceiling and it’s like his brain is on the fritz or something because it can’t seem to settle on _anything_.

 

That is, until he feels a hand rest on his shoulder.

 

“Alec?” Magnus asks. Magnus is _here_ , with him, in his bed from the feel of it. And there’s a corner of his mind that wants to do something with that but Jace just keeps pounding the drum and he can’t focus.

 

“Alec, are you… are you there?”

 

That’s a funny question, isn’t it? Of course he’s here. Magnus has his hand on his shoulder, so where else would he be? And then he remembers where else he _should_ be – Magnus’ loft, black leather couch and their hands, drawing the rune and something must have happened. Something _bad_. Because they’re not at the loft anymore, they’re at the Institute, and Magnus sounds _scared_.

 

“I’m here,” he says, only it comes out sounding more like _meer_ , pushed through a voice that feels rough from disuse. And it reminds him of the time he was giving Izzy the silent treatment, back when they were younger and Izzy was the only one he would talk to on a regular basis.

 

He went four and a half days without saying a single word and when he’d finally tried to speak again because his mother flat out ordered him to, his voice was a dried up piece of fruit, grape to raisin, that sort of thing.

 

That was before Jace came to live with them, before things changed, and there it is again. _Jace_. The spell, the track, and there’s _something there_ , if he could only just reach it.

 

“Can you open your eyes?” Magnus asks, which is weird too because Alec thought his eyes were open. He thought he’d been staring at the ceiling but now that he checks again, things are black. Which means he’d closed them at some point. And Magnus’ voice sounds so _sad_ that Alec opens his eyes if only because it seems like it might be something Magnus really wants him to do.

 

When he sees the look on Magnus’ face, he almost wishes he’d just kept his dumb eyes closed.

 

He feels something stab in his gut, a sense of relief that doesn’t make sense because he wasn’t worried, was he? Alec wasn’t worried about anything except Jace but even that he’s not strictly _worried_ about right now. Which is also strange. Add that to the list. And he needs to stop this right now. Needs to find a way to get his thoughts under control because _something happened_ , and that’s important.

 

_40, 16_ _, 72, 10._

 

“What happened?” he asks, his voice still hoarse but a little more _him_.

 

And Magnus has this _something_ in his voice when he says, “You don’t remember?”

 

He shakes his head and feels about a thousand knives stabbing into his skull.

 

“Let me get you some water.”

 

Something cold flushes through Alec’s body when Magnus leaves the bed, like he’s somehow managed to take all the warmth in the world with him even though he’s only a few feet away and even though he’s back in a few seconds tops with a water bottle in his hand that he tips gently to Alec’s lips.

 

It feels good, like he’s maybe gone days without it. But when he drinks a little too much and ends up choking on it, something crashes over him like a wave.

 

_Water_.

 

The drum beat thuds again: _Jace. Jace. JACE_. And Alec is sitting up at that because it’s there now. The thing he was looking for.

 

“Alec, what are you doing?”

  
“I gotta go.”

 

“Go where?”

 

“Jace. I think… I think I know where he is.”

 

He swings his legs over the side of the bed and feels the strained pull of muscles that haven’t moved in a long time. Which can’t be a good sign either. But whatever’s been going on the last however long is not important now.

 

“Alec, you shouldn’t be doing that.”

 

“I’m fine,” he says, but when he goes to stand up he tips like a bottom weighted punching bag only he’s not rebounding the way they do, he’s just _tilting._ And he’d probably end up flat on his face if Magnus didn’t use some lightning quick, catlike reflexes to get off the bed and catch him before he does.

 

“Just sit, Alec. _Rest_. You’ve been through a great deal.”

 

“I don’t have time to rest,” he snaps as these weird little spikes of fear and hurt poke at his chest that don’t quite feel like they belong to him. Only who else would they belong to?

 

He doesn’t listen to Magnus’ urgings this time, he just steps into his boots and leaves, reasoning that he’ll have plenty of time to apologize later, once he does what needs to be done.

 

When he steps into the control center, his equilibrium is thrown for the second time this morning or afternoon or night, whatever it is. There are so many people, so much light and noise and commotion that he has to rest his hand on the nearest pillar and shut his eyes for a few seconds just to regain his balance.

 

He finds Raj once he’s good enough to move, heads over to his station and wonders at the way Raj looks up at him like he’s a ghost once he catches his attention.

 

Something _really bad_ must have happened.

 

He really, truly, honestly cannot think about that right now, though, as Raj blinks up at him and says with awe, “Alec you’re-”

 

“Yeah, I’m alive. And I need you to do something for me.”

 

“Uh… okay, what?”

 

“Look up some coordinates.”

 

He blinks a few times at Alec before asking, “Coordinates, why?”

 

“I think I know where Jace is. Just type this in: 40.16, 72.10.”

 

“Hodge said they were on a ship,” Raj says, his voice uncertain. But he’s still doing what he was asked to do, so his tone of voice can be whatever it wants to be right now as far as Alec is concerned.

 

“What good are coordinates going to be? Even if they were there at some point, they could be long gone by now.”

 

“In order to portal they need a fixed point,” Magnus says from somewhere over Alec’s shoulder. And his voice sounds so tired that it sends a renewed wave of exhaustion through _Alec’s_ body.  

 

“They’d have to stay docked or anchored,” Alec finishes for him, refusing to look at Magnus right now because he can’t risk losing focus. And Magnus and focus have rarely crossed paths in Alec’s mind.

 

“There’s a Latitude 40.16, Longitude -72.10 a few miles off the coast,” Raj says with something that now sounds like bewilderment. Like up until this point he thought Alec was just insane.

 

“That has to be it,” Alec replies, leaning over the desk and feeling the muscles in his back pull uncomfortably with the motion. “Pull up the satellite.”

 

It takes Raj a long, tense minute or two to get satellite imagery, but when he does…

 

There’s a ship. A large, imposing looking ship seemingly anchored in the exact spot Alec somehow managed to pull from his mind and that…

 

“We got him,” he hisses, half excitement, half something else he can’t place even though it’s his own emotion but it doesn’t matter.

 

They found him.

 

~*~

 

Izzy and Clary are out on some sort of mission, so Alec takes over the planning by himself. And it’s rushed and messy, two things he normally hates, but Raj had been right. Even with the need for a fixed point, just because the ship is there now that doesn’t mean it’ll be there tomorrow so they need to work fast.

 

He doesn’t ask for permission, just asks for volunteers before texting his sister and telling her that they’re wheels up in two hours, if she and Clary want to come along. And while everyone else scrambles to prepare their parts of the plan, Alec heads back to his room because he really needs a freaking shower.

 

It takes a long while for the scalding water to burn through the days of sweat coating his skin. But it feels good, standing under the spray, letting it work on muscles that still feel tight enough to snap. It feels like _release_ , and even though it’s temporary – even though he knows the second he steps out of his room the world is going to come crashing back down on him again – he takes these moments and drinks them in because he feels instinctively that he needs that.

 

That before this day is over, he’s going to _need them._

He shaves the beard next, a scraggly mess that had grown out in the almost week he’d been unconscious, according to Raj. Who he had asked because he can’t seem to bring himself to look at Magnus right now, let alone talk to him.

 

He was unconscious for almost a week, though. That’s something that actually happened to him. And he knows he should probably be concerned by that, worried that maybe there was some sort of permanent damage done, but his head is too full of other worries right now to bother with anything as long term as that.

 

He’s only wearing a towel when he emerges from the bathroom, making his way to where he’d laid out his clothes on the bed. But for some reason when he hears a knock on the door, he immediately says, “Come in,” even though there’s almost no one in this building right now that he’d feel comfortable around in just a towel.

 

Thankfully, it’s Magnus. But also sort of _not_ thankfully, it’s Magnus.

 

“I’m sorry,” Magnus blurts out as soon as he sees him, like it’s somehow his fault that Alec told him to come in. “I didn’t know you were… I can come back when you’re done.”

 

“Magnus, it’s fine, you can stay.”

 

Magnus still looks like he wants to run, and Alec still feels like maybe he should let him, but in the end he stays. Only once that part is settled, a sense of awkwardness overtakes him as he looks helplessly between the towel around his waist and the clothes on the bed like he’s not sure how to get from Point A to Point B.

 

Magnus smiles softly, almost _ruefully_ and turns around.

 

It’s like a curtain closing, blocking out the light. And it’s not a door, or worse yet a wall, but it’s enough to make Alec’s insides knot to just shy of painful as he stares at Magnus’ back and wonders for the hundredth time today what exactly is going on.

 

“I came by to tell you that the boat is ready,” Magnus says, his voice low and quiet like he’s trying to disturb as little space and air as possible. “We’re ready to go when you are.”

 

“That’s great, Magnus. Thank you,” he says as he slips into his boxers and pants. “You can… I’m… I’m dressed.”

 

That’s not entirely true, but at least he’s got pants on and it’s not like Magnus hasn’t seen him without a shirt before. But any relief he thought he might feel when he no longer has to stare at the slumped line of Magnus’ shoulders is nowhere to be found when he turns back around.

 

The curtain is still there, and Alec has no idea how to open it.

 

“Are you sure you’re well enough to do this?” Magnus asks, and he looks so worried it would almost be startling if he weren’t getting used to Magnus looking at him like that.

 

“I’m fine. And actually, I… I wanted to apologize for whatever happened while I was out.”

 

Magnus scrunches up his eyes and stares out at him in confused silence.

 

“I don’t know what… what happened, with the track or with whatever came after it, but I’m getting the distinct feeling that it was kind of bad and I wanted to apologize for that. To you. I wanted to apologize to you for that because… well, because.”

 

“You really don’t remember what happened?”

 

He searches Magnus’ eyes from across the room, but all he gets in return is a cold chill pushing up his bare back.

 

“No. The last thing I remember was lying on your couch and then… nothing.”

 

Magnus just nods, which is super unhelpful. But he doesn’t have the time to push this, even if it were any of his business. Which, okay maybe it _is_ a little bit his business, since it was something that happened _to him_. But if Magnus doesn’t want to talk about it, Alec isn’t the type to force him to.

 

So he just says, “I know you were probably worried… I mean, if you were the one lying in a coma I know I would’ve been out of my mind and I just… I’m sorry. I’m sorry I did that to you.”

 

Magnus opens his mouth like he’s going to say something, maybe something important, but before he can even get a single syllable out someone is bursting through the door.

 

Being shirtless in front of Magnus is one thing. Being shirtless while his sister plasters herself to him like a leech is something else entirely.

 

“A text message?” she asks once she lets him go, her hands hard on his chest as she shoves him back a few steps. “Are you serious? You’re in a coma for a week and all I get is a text message informing me of some stupid mission?”

 

“It’s not a stupid mission,” he says as he reaches for his t-shirt so he can feel a little less exposed under Izzy’s barrage. “And what did you want me to say? Hey, sis, I’m alive, come back and yell at me?”

 

He’s expecting the fight to continue, but something about what he just said makes all the ire leave her in one quick rush and then she’s just hugging him again, stronger than before, her arms so tight his ribs feel like they’re being crushed.

 

“You’re alive,” she says, and the list of people that Alec needs to apologize to just continues to grow.

 

He looks up to try and catch Magnus’ eyes, maybe find some sympathy for all the hug-related pain he has to endure. But when he casts his gaze to the other side of the room, Magnus is gone. And for some inexplicable reason, it feels like a part of Alec is gone too.

 

~*~

 

The boat isn’t as full as he’d like it to be, given what they’re likely going to be up against, but Alec is still immensely grateful for the people sitting around him as they make their way out to sea.

 

The Shadowhunters willing to risk their lives and careers to retrieve someone branded as a traitor – like Raj, like Lydia. The Downworlders along to help their friends – like Simon and Luke. And the small circle of people that love Jace like family, everyone here with one common goal, one common _purpose_.

 

Alec hates the idea that he’s risking all of their lives for something he really feels like he should be doing on his own, but he’s starting to learn that some things just can’t be managed that way.

 

Sometimes, you need to let other people help you.

 

He’s sitting at the head of the boat with Magnus, his eyes fixed on where Magnus’ right hand is held in his lap while Magnus’ left hand carries them safely toward Valentine’s ship.

 

Magnus’ eyes are shut tight to the inky dark, his left hand raised with blue fire as he both moves and _hides_ the ship, concealing them even from Shadowhunters because given the likelihood that they’ll be severely outnumbered, complete surprise is their only hope of success.

 

Alec has possession of his right hand, though, as he twists Magnus’ rings gently, around and around and around like he just needs something to distract him right now. Something to do other than worry. And he’s concerned that playing with Magnus’ hand might distract _Magnus_ , but he hasn’t said anything on the subject since they left shore and something in Alec’s gut tells him his actions might actually be _helping_ Magnus concentrate. And so even if he weren’t getting a much needed sense of peace out of the action, he’d still keep it up if only for Magnus’ sake.

 

He flips Magnus’ hand over so that it’s palm up on his own thigh, pressing the fingers out gently so he can trace the lines in Magnus’ hand. And he wonders absently which one is the lifeline, and how far Magnus’ must trace before he closes Magnus’ hand again so he can raise it to his lips.

 

Alec kisses each of his knuckles in turn, softly, almost _reverently_. And he’s about to put Magnus’ fingers in his mouth, not to be lewd but just because he wonders what lightning tastes like, when he remembers he’s in public.

 

He looks up in time to catch Lydia watching him. But when he puts Magnus’ hand down almost guiltily, she just smiles at him and looks away. He doesn’t let his hand go, though. He’s just maybe going to stop putting his lips all over it when there are other people around.

 

He doesn’t know what’s wrong with him, but it feels as if something has changed since the last time he saw Magnus. Which is ridiculous, because he was _in a coma_. How much can things actually change when one person is in a freaking coma? And it’s not like he wasn’t drawn to Magnus before all this happened, but now it’s just so much worse. Like his skin just doesn’t feel right if at least some part of him isn’t touching some part of Magnus.

 

Maybe it’s the rune, or doing the track. But he hadn’t felt anything after Hodge drew it, and it feels like something else, something he’s missing. Like when you see something in your periphery and you can’t catch it no matter how fast you turn. Like a dumb dog chasing its tail. And he doesn’t know how to process any of it.

 

It’s probably why he waits to be the last person to leave the boat once they finally reach Valentine’s ship, the traces of fear and worry that accompany every battle coursing through his veins along with everything else as he watches his friends scale the ladder on the side of the boat and waits.

 

There’s a surprised puff of air that escapes Magnus’ lips when Alec holds him back so he can kiss him, not as deeply as he wants but enough to get his point across. Or at least he thinks it’s enough until the kiss is broken and Magnus is looking up at him with abject bewilderment.

 

“What was that for?” he asks.

 

And Alec says, “For luck,” even though the kiss had nothing to do with luck at all.

 

Almost immediately upon their arrival, a portal opens at the opposite end of the ship. Which is probably something Alec expected if he’s honest with himself, that Valentine might choose to run instead of fight his own battle. But that doesn’t help the sinking feeling he gets when he sees Valentine and his new Circle members disappearing to who knows where.

 

He can’t focus on that now, though. Not with the literal _horde_ of demons before him. All he can do is fight and pray that Jace isn’t disappearing through that portal as well.

 

Magnus doesn’t leave his side for a second once the fighting begins, and it’s both a comfort and an immense _help_ , given how utterly and completely competent Magnus is at stuff like this.

 

He’s never seen him fight before, not really, not since the night they met and that was just the one Circle member. Alec had shot the guy in the leg because Alec sometimes can’t smother his natural instinct to _help_ , but he remembers wondering why he didn’t kill him himself, when it was all over.

 

That night, when he went home, he was up for _hours_ thinking about Magnus, pushing out all the stuff with Jace and the demon that he had no interest in dealing with and thinking about Magnus instead until he came to the conclusion that the reason he didn’t kill the Circle member was simply because he knew that Magnus _could._

And also because, on some level, he really wanted to see Magnus do it.

 

It’s a feeling he’s getting right now as well, something similar to excitement but deeper welling up in his chest as he tries not to look at Magnus as much as he really wants to. Tries not to get distracted by the fire that dances around him, bending to his will. By the power that emanates from him like a heat wave, washing through the cold night air. A power that he swears he can feel pulsing just beneath his own skin as he moves seamlessly between his bow and his Seraph blade and tries to keep his focus solely on the task before him.

 

When there’s a slight break in the barrage surrounding him, he makes the mistake of looking at Magnus, head on. And something inside of him just shuts down, like a computer glitch stalling out, when he catches sight of Magnus’ eyes – his _real ones_ – gleaming in the night.

 

He’s taken by the overwhelming urge to reach out to him, touch him, any part of him really. He’d settle for his freaking nose right now just to be able to rest his fingers on some part of Magnus’ electric skin, to feel even a hint of that power coursing through his own body for real and it’s almost like he can’t function. Like Magnus is filling up all the cracks in his thought and he’s lightheaded instantly.

 

When the moon is blotted out above him, he realizes rather painfully that looking at Magnus at a time like this was a critical mistake.

 

He looks up just in time to see a group of five Achaieral demons descending on him from above, their black wings spread out like a blanket, covering the sky, as their razor sharp teeth bare at Alec, readying for the kill. Which is what this is going to be, he knows that. Even if he could get his blade up or his bow out, there are too many of them, and they’re all coming specifically for _him_.

 

_So this is how I die_ , he thinks, and it’s odd, how little that affects him. How empty he feels, not resigned just _blank_. Until a press of fear he knows is not his own racks through his body.

 

“Alec! Don’t move!” Magnus shouts. And for once, he listens to the suggestion. But that might just be because it was more order than suggestion. Either way, he holds deathly still in spite of instincts that tell him to fight. And in that instant, the world around him ignites.

 

Magnus’ power crashes over him in unrelenting waves, and it’s not unlike being at the center of an explosion, he imagines. Like being in the hottest part of the flame where you touch it and it burns so hot and so quick that you’re in shock, not noticing right away how badly you’re burnt.

 

Only he’s not burnt. This isn’t shock. Because the flames aren’t touching him. There are five Achaieral demons wailing above him as they’re sent back to hell, their bodies contorting in the blue flames licking the air just outside his skin, but somehow none of it is touching him.

  
It hurts his eyes to look at it but he can’t force himself to close them. It’s just all so _beautiful_. The cries of the demons echoing like a chorus as the fire continues to swell out from Alec until it engulfs everything in its wake. Everything except _him._ And there isn’t a single word in any language he knows or half knows that can describe what it feels like to be the center of this particular flame.

 

When the demons’ screams are finally silenced, their bodies fallen to ash, the fire vanishes. And Alec doesn’t realize that he was actually holding his breath until he begins to choke on the air around him, his lungs desperate for it in a way that only slightly registers as he blinks out at where Magnus is standing a few feet away.

 

His chest is heaving, his eyes still catlike and wild, his hands held at his sides as the flames spark feebly from his fingertips. And in this moment, nothing else exists apart from them as they stare at each other in something like marvel.

 

“Are you okay?” Magnus says eventually, breaking the spell so he can approach Alec, run his hands gently over him in search of injuries.

 

In search of _burns._

But Alec wants to tell him he doesn’t need to bother, that he knows he wasn’t touched by hellfire itself because even in the midst of the blaze he could still feel Magnus there, still feel his _control_ , protecting Alec in a way he’s never experienced before. Only he can’t figure out how to put something like that into actual words.

 

So he says, “Yeah I’m good,” because he is, and because those words are simple enough to speak.

 

He catches something over Magnus’ shoulder a second later, though. And in spite of how overwhelmed he still feels by everything that just happened, his instincts are strong enough to get him to react in the way he needs to.

 

“Babe, look out!” he shouts as he shoves Magnus hard to the right while he pivots to the left, the tail of the Scorpios demon piercing the air where Magnus’ head had been a half second before. And it doesn’t even take conscious thought to do what he does next, to pull out his blade, slice the tail off at the middle before lunging toward the demon.

 

He buries the blade all the way to the hilt, deeper than he needs to but not nearly as deep as he _wants to_. An anger he rarely allows himself to indulge rising from deep inside of him as he twists the blade and smiles at the sight of the demon, scorched to ash. _The demon that had almost killed Magnus_. And he’s delirious with it, so much so that he almost forgets everything that happened before the kill.

 

Magnus is sitting on the ground when Alec finally turns back to him, looking up at him curiously. And Alec offers him a hand even though he’s pretty sure Magnus could easily get back to his feet if he wanted to right now.

 

“Sorry, I didn’t mean to push you so hard,” he says in response to the slightly shocked look in Magnus’ eyes. “Are you okay?”

 

Magnus doesn’t answer his question, though. He simply asks, “Did you just call me babe?”

 

Oh.

 

“What?” Alec blurts out, his voice about an octave higher than it usually is as a cold sweat breaks out across the back of his neck. “No. I… I called you _Bane_. You know, like Magnus Bane.”

 

There’s a smile playing at Magnus’ lips right now, one that Alec has the almost unbearable urge to just, like, kiss out of existence. His voice the kind of thing that has the power to make Alec literally weak in the knees when he says, “Oh. Okay Lightwood,” and turns away from him.

 

He’s grateful Magnus made the decision to look away, because Alec isn’t sure he would’ve been able to. Which probably would’ve meant a few more near death experiences that they can now thankfully avoid as they return to the demons still coming at them in waves.

 

Next time they’re in battle together, they’re just going to have to not look at each other, a tactic they both silently agree to try now. But he can still feel Magnus’ presence, his _power_ , carrying him along like it’s somehow making his aim better, his strike truer. And it feels like everything, like the word _everything_ made manifest right before his eyes.

 

Eyes that freeze when he finally sees Jace.

 

He’s halfway across the ship, on the edge of the battle, watching like he doesn’t know if he should help or run. And the rune on Alec’s stomach begins to burn so hot he has to bite back a scream when Jace’s eyes move to the general area where Alec is still trying to fight his way to him.

 

The world stops, relief coursing through his veins as his heart hammers in his chest. And he’s so caught off guard by the new swell of emotions that he doesn’t see Clary breaking through the chaos until it’s too late.

 

She’s too far ahead of him to stop her, already halfway to Jace before he can even think to move, and there are too many demons besides. A pack of Raveners now, doing their best to surround him, take him down. And so all he can do is focus on them, on killing them all, sending them straight back to hell because he’s no good to anyone if he’s dead.

 

His muscles are aching when he’s finally able to look again, but the image isn’t registering properly. Clary got to him, is standing with Jace at the edge of the ship, and Jace is holding her, none of which should be odd. Only Jace has his blade out, has his blade _to Clary’s throat_ , and Alec is frozen again, locked in confusion this time as he tries to catch his breath.

 

When they go overboard, the only thing Alec can think is the word _run_.

 

He doesn’t know how he gets there, how he manages to fight his way to the spot they disappeared from. All he knows is that he _does_ , he makes it. But just as he’s about to dive in after them, he feels something puncture the back of his neck. The word _Raum_ swimming through his focus – gray-white tentacles tipped with poisonous teeth – as the sound of the demon’s hooting cry reaches his ears.

 

It’s drowned out by the wind as he falls, the poison hitting his bloodstream around the time his body hits the water so hard all the air is knocked from his lungs. And he’s sinking in more ways than one before he feels something grab him, just on the edge of consciousness. Feels _someone_ grab him.

 

The last thought he has before the darkness overtakes him is _it’s Magnus,_ because who else would it be?

 

It will always be Magnus.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Was anyone else totally killed by that new promo? I will be writing chapter eight from the afterlife. See you all there!


	8. Everything

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> All Alec has are snapshots.

All Alec has are snapshots.

 

Blue flame surrounding him again, its warmth enveloping him as he’s lifted out of the water.

 

Magnus lying next to him on a garbage-filled beach, reaching out with trembling fingers.

 

Magnus’ hand, cold in his own.

 

Then blue. Blue eyes. Blue skin, maybe even, and a shock of white.

 

A woman’s voice.

 

Then nothing.

 

~*~

 

When Alec opens his eyes again, things are different. He knows this because he can _feel it_ , can feel the shift in his existence long before he tips his head to the side and sees who’s lying in the next bed.

 

Jace is awake. Jace is smiling and awake. Jace is _here, smiling and awake_ , and Alec…

 

Alec _breathes_.

 

He reaches out instinctively, trying to track the way Jace is looking at him, figure out why he looks different now. Sadder, maybe, which doesn’t make sense given that he’s _home_. But when Alec reaches out his hand the sadness sinks to something deeper.

 

Jace’s fingers are warm in his, and it reminds him of something, of _cold_. But he can’t quite place it and so he focuses on Jace. _Here_.

 

He can’t believe he’s actually here.

 

What Jace does next is unexpected, to say the least. Instead of taking his hand back, he uses Alec’s to pull himself out of bed before letting go just long enough to shove his way into Alec’s.

 

“Move over, giant,” he grumbles. And even though it hurts to do it, he does exactly as Jace asks.

 

He curls into Alec’s side like they’re kids again, and for the hundredth time in the last however many days, Alec is confused. But he just rolls with it because there are tears in Jace’s eyes, and his body is shaking slightly against Alec’s, and so evidently Jace needs this for some reason.

 

“I’m sorry,” Jace says eventually, the words completely wrecked as they break from his mouth.

 

“There’s nothing to be sorry for,” he says, wrapping his arms tighter around Jace in response to the way he’s still just shivering. “I’m just glad you’re home.” 

 

And he is. Alec can feel that in his rune, like it’s stronger now. Not as strong as it’s been, but getting there. And that means so much.

 

“I thought you didn’t cry,” he says eventually in an attempt to get Jace to hear him. To understand that he honestly doesn’t have anything to feel sorry for. That things are okay. Alec is okay and Jace is okay and _they’re okay._

 

Jace punches him lightly in the stomach and says, “Shut up.”

 

And there’s a smile there now, in his voice. Maybe even on his face, Alec can’t really tell because Jace’s head is sort of buried in his chest, but it’s there in his voice and the word _home_ swims across Alec’s mind again at that.

 

Jace is home, and now Alec can rest.

 

~*~

 

They spend the next five days in the hospital wing, Alec because he has to and Jace because he seems unable to leave Alec’s side. Which is sweet, he guesses, but it’s also sort of not what he wants right now. Because Alec spends five days in the hospital wing and never once does Magnus show up to see him and that’s…

 

He’s not going to lie, that _hurts_.

 

And he swears that when Magnus does show up, if ever, he’s going to give him a piece of his mind. Only the second he sees Magnus materialize in the doorway, all the anger and frustration he’d been feeling at his absence evaporates into the ever-thinning air in Alec’s lungs.

 

He wonders if he’s ever going to be able to breathe properly around Magnus, or if he should just cut his losses and buy his own personal respirator now.

 

“Magnus!” Izzy squeals from where she’s perched on the edge of Alec’s bed, deep in a game of War with Simon, also perched on Alec’s bed like it’s become the hottest social gathering spot of the year. Her voice catching the attention of anyone that hadn’t yet noticed Magnus’ arrival before both she and Clary are bounding across the room to greet him.

 

Alec gets out of bed and takes a few shaky steps towards the door as well before Simon shoves his way past him to join the group hug already in progress. And he’s annoyed. Deeply. But he’s not entirely sure what he’s annoyed at.

 

It’s probably Simon. Usually, it’s Simon.

 

He walks slowly to where Magnus is still being attacked, his eyes tired as they meet Alec’s over the tops of everyone’s heads. And something warm starts to pool in his stomach as he tries to remember the last time he was able to look in Magnus’ eyes.

 

The hug breaks up a few seconds later, with both Clary and Simon giving Alec _looks_ as they walk past him, back to the bed Jace is still thankfully lying on because at least one of his friends isn’t being a complete ass this morning. But their knowing smiles are forgotten in the way Izzy rises to her tiptoes to plant a kiss on Magnus’ cheek.

 

 _That’s new_ , he thinks as the words, “Thanks for keeping your promise,” escape Izzy’s lips. And he’s so caught up in what just happened that he doesn’t register that he’s technically sort of alone with Magnus until Magnus speaks.

 

“You look good,” Magnus says in a voice that’s almost shy, which is something Alec really thought they were past already. “Healthy, I mean. It’s good to see you up and-”

 

His sentence ends in an _oomph_ sound as Alec closes the distance between them and just, like, _hugs_ him, leans down and wraps his arms more tightly around him than he’s maybe ever done with anyone before. His face buried in the crook of Magnus’ neck as he squeezes so tight he really hopes Magnus tells him if he’s cutting off his airway or something because he just can’t help it.

 

Five days plus however many he was out before that is way too long to go without him.

 

“Where have you been?” he asks once he finally manages to let Magnus go. And his voice sounds hurt, bare and raw in a way he really wishes it didn’t. But if there’s anyone he can sound that way in front of, it’s Magnus.

 

“I’ve been… busy,” he replies, his voice pinching around the word _busy_ like he knows it’s not the one he wants but he can’t think of anything better to say.

 

“I thought… I hoped you’d be here,” Alec says, and it’s hard, saying that. The words are so simple, but the truth behind them leaves him feeling like he’s stark naked in a crowded room.

 

“I wasn’t sure if you’d want me here.”

 

A sharp bark of laughter escapes his chest at that, because seriously?

 

“Are you kidding me?” he says, a little hysterically now because whenever he’s around Magnus his voice seems to be at the beck and call of someone that’s not even remotely him. “I would’ve called but my phone kind of died when I went into the water. I want… Magnus, I _want you here_. I always want you here.”

 

He trails a knuckle down Magnus’ cheek when he says it, because apparently he’s feeling bold today. And the way Magnus smiles up at him is so soft it actually makes the muscles in Alec’s body loosen.

 

“Magnus!” Izzy calls a second later, because of course she would. “Come join us!” And the smile on Magnus’ face turns to something else, equally soft but different as he tips his head to see past Alec to where Izzy is probably bouncing on the bed if he knows her.

 

“What was she talking about?” he asks before Magnus can leave him again. “The promise?”

 

“Oh, it’s nothing,” he says with a dismissive wave of his hand that doesn’t even come close to matching the look in his eyes.

 

It almost looks like shame, and Alec would really like to press the issue but Izzy is screaming again a second later.

 

“Maaaagnus!” she whines, and the way Magnus dips his head and laughs before heading across the room makes Alec forget everything up to and including his own name.

 

He’s about to turn around and join everyone when something in the hallway catches his eye. A flash of blue and white that’s there one second and gone the next and something pushes inside of him, makes him follow the flash even though he’s got no clue what it actually is.

 

It ends up being a woman with blue skin and white hair and the word, “Wait,” explodes out of Alec’s mouth before he can even properly process what’s going on.

 

She turns around to face him, causing something to slip slightly into place in the back of his mind.

“I know you, don’t I?” he asks, scratching at the itch in thought.

 

“I’m Catarina. Magnus’ friend.”

 

“Oh,” he says, even though he knows that’s not how he knows her. “Want me to go get him?”

 

“No, Alec, I was actually hoping to speak with you.”

 

It’s the way she says his name that makes things finally lock into place, her voice soothing as the words, _Just hold on, Alec, you will be okay,_ slip through his mind.

 

“You’re the one that healed me and Jace.”

She purses her lips, her eyes dark and unreadable when she says, “I healed all three of you.”

 

“Three?”

 

She seems disappointed by his question, but also not entirely surprised.

 

“Tell me something, Alec. When you woke up before, the first time, did you feel differently? Around Magnus? Like there were… emotions, thoughts, _feelings_ that didn’t quite belong to you?”

 

He shifts nervously and crosses his arms over his chest, trying to shove down the way his skin actually feels like it’s trying to crawl off his body.

 

“How did you know?”

 

“Because I know about the spell he used to bind himself to you. The spell I begged him not to use but the one he did anyway because that’s what Magnus does.”

 

“What do you mean he bound himself to me? Why… why would he bind himself to me?” he asks, and it’s almost like he can actually feel his skin loosening, like it’s about ready to just slough right off of him.

 

She looks at him with eyes that betray very little and sighs.

 

“Because you were lost inside your own head. Because you were going to die and because he hoped that if he performed the spell he would be able to go in there and find you before you did.”

 

She stares at him. And Alec has been stared down by plenty of people in his life, but this one feels more unnerving than all the rest.

 

“He has refused to tell me the specifics of what happened, but I would be willing to bet that he is the only reason either one of you came out of there.”

 

“I,” he starts to say, but that’s the only thing he has right now. Just the one letter. Because he understands what she’s saying – the words make sense, the sentences are all grammatically correct and everything, and so he gets it. But he also really, _really doesn’t get it._

 

“When you were hit with the Raum venom, you were not the only one that was poisoned by its sting. You are very lucky that both of you didn’t drown when he went in after you. Frankly, I am surprised he had enough strength to pull you out, but that’s Magnus for you. Where there is a will, he will find the way even if it very nearly costs him his life.”

 

Now all Alec is capable of is moving his lips as soundless puffs of air escape him in the shape of words he can’t seem to form.

 

“Thankfully the effects of the spell seem to have worn off, so if you step in front of a bus tomorrow he won’t suffer the same fate as well.”

 

“Why are you telling me this?” he manages to finally ask, his heartbeat thudding so loudly in his ears that he almost can’t hear her when she answers.

 

“Because I thought you should know and I am almost certain he will never tell you himself. He almost died for you, Alec. A few times, actually. And I am glad you found your parabatai, truly I am, but I am even gladder that you did not kill my friend in the process.”

 

“I never,” he says, the word bitten out almost hysterically. “I never wanted him to do something like that. You have to believe that I _never_ would’ve asked him to do that.”

 

“Ah, but that’s the problem with Magnus. He doesn’t always need to be asked.”

 

She sighs again, but this time, she’s almost softer on the other end of it.

 

“What’s done is done, Alec, but I hope you know that your actions have consequences for those around you, those who care for you. You may not care about your own life, but _he does_. You might… I don’t know, you might want to consider that going forward.”

 

When she pauses this time, the silence feels like it’s sucking all of the oxygen from his body – lungs, blood, everything.

 

“You might also want to consider shaving all your hair off so he doesn’t pull something like this again.”

 

He feels his head jerk back slightly at the comment, his eyes squinting down as the word, “Uh,” drags from his mouth, if _uh_ can even be considered a word.

 

“It was a joke, Alec.”

 

“Oh,” he says, and it’s like whiplash. Like spinning on a merry-go-round, unable to figure out which way is left and which is right.

 

“Please be careful with him. I don’t want to spend another century listening to his awful, forlorn poetry.”

 

“Is that… is that another joke?”

 

She smiles, which is almost more unnerving than her dead-eyed stare was, given all they’ve been discussing.

 

“I wish. He’s always been very fond of haikus. He went a whole month once where he only spoke in them. It was the longest month of my life.”

 

Alec smiles in spite of himself, in spite of whatever the hell is going on here. But it doesn’t reach much beyond his lips as his stomach continues to turn over everything Catarina just told him.

 

“I love my friend, Alec. Please don’t hurt him.”

 

“I have no intention of hurting him.”

 

The smile is gone from her lips, replaced by a deep sadness when she replies, “We very rarely intend to hurt those that we love, but that does not mean it never happens.”

 

He doesn’t buck at the word _love_. He just lets it settle inside of him like it belongs there. Which is weird but also… not?

 

“If you hurt him...”

 

“You’ll kill me?” he asks, and he can’t tell if he’s joking or not.

 

Which is why he’s relieved when she says, “No. I am a healer, Alec.”

 

The relief, of course, doesn’t last long.

 

“But if things end poorly,” she adds, “might I recommend giving Raphael Santiago a rather wide berth.”

 

“Raphael? Why him?” he asks, but apparently she’s done giving him answers.

 

“Goodbye, Alec,” she says. “I hope that when next we meet it is under better circumstances.”

 

And with that, she’s gone. And Alec is…

Well, to put it bluntly, Alec is pissed. His insides literally feel like they’re on fire as he makes his way back to the hospital. And he stands in the door watching Magnus for a good long minute, just _fuming_ until Magnus finally looks at him.

 

His first instinct is to smile at Alec, but he narrows his eyes when he evidently catches the anger tightening Alec’s jaw so much his teeth hurt.

 

Alec tips head, and the slight look of fear in Magnus’ eyes manages to crack through the brick wall of Alec’s rage as he comes to the door.

 

“Is everything all right?” he asks.

 

“Yeah,” Alec lies, trying to make his voice sound looser than it is. “But can I borrow you for a second?”

 

“Of course,” he says, reaching out to touch Alec before changing his mind and pulling his hand back.

 

“Don’t do anything I wouldn’t do!” Magnus calls back to where everyone is still huddled on his and Jace’s beds. And Alec’s patience has reached its peak and so he grabs Magnus by the hand and practically hauls him from the room.

He doesn’t speak as they walk, just pulls Magnus along behind him in silence because he knows that the second he opens his mouth to say anything, _everything_ is just going to come spilling out of it. And he wants privacy for this, _needs it_ , because he’s sick of everyone and their sister knowing his business.

 

“As much as I enjoy holding your hand, Alexander,” Magnus says, his voice a pained attempt at light. “I’m not sure this is entirely necessary.”

 

But Alec doesn’t respond due to the aforementioned _everything._

They make it to his room in what’s probably record time, and he tries not to slam the door once he and Magnus are inside, he honestly does. But the way he catches Magnus startle out of the corner of his eye tells him he does a poor job of it.

 

He takes a few deep breaths before he turns around in the hopes that it’ll calm him down. But it does very little to settle him inside as he finally allows himself to look Magnus in the eye again.

“I just met your friend,” he says, the words bit thin through clenched teeth.

 

“My friend?”

 

“Yeah. Catarina.”

 

“Really,” Magnus says in that fake cheery voice he has when he wants everyone to think the world is full of sunshine and rainbows. “I was unaware that she’d be stopping by. Perhaps I should go find her.”

 

“She said she wanted to talk to me.”

 

The silence is deafening.

 

“She told me what you did, Magnus,” he says, and his voice is shaking so bad he’s having trouble getting the words out of his mouth.

 

“Did she?”

 

He knows exactly what Magnus is doing, how he’s waiting for Alec to play his cards before he gives anything away. And so Alec lays them all out on the freaking table.

 

“She told me how you did a spell that bound you to me, that made it so that you could go inside my head. A spell that could’ve very easily _killed you_ , and almost did when all that stuff happened at the boat.”

 

“Catarina exaggerates, Alec,” he says, his hands held out in supplication. “You’ve heard the saying about taking something someone says with a grain of salt? Well, Catarina needs a dump truck of salt.”

 

He shakes his head roughly. “She wasn’t exaggerating.”

 

“Alec-”

 

“ _You don’t get to do that, Magnus_ ,” he snaps, unable to hold it in any longer.

 

And the way Magnus asks, “Do what?” like he honestly doesn’t see the problem here only makes things that much worse.

 

“Risk your life for me. You just… _don’t_.”

 

Something dark slips across Magnus’ expression, settling all the way down into a voice that sounds deeper than normal when he asks, “Why, because you have that market cornered already?”

 

He narrows his eyes and takes a few measured steps closer to Magnus. “I’m a Shadowhunter. It’s my job to-”

 

“ _No_ ,” Magnus bites out, and the force behind the word makes every piece of glass in the room rattle as his eyes start to shift to their natural state before Magnus takes a deep breath and they turn back to brown.

 

Alec has never heard Magnus snap like that before, and it’s enough to startle him to momentary silence.

 

“No, Alec, do not even think of finishing that sentence. It is not your job to die for anyone or anything, _ever_. And whoever convinced you that it is should be subjected to the Brazen Bull.”

 

He squints out at Magnus.

 

“It was a popular torture device in Greece for a while. The specifics of it are not important. My point is that it is not, nor will it ever be your _job_ to die.”

 

“So you were what? Just going to put that on me then?” he asks, steering the conversation away from what Magnus said because he can’t deal with that right now. “Your death? Like you thought I’d be able to live with myself if you died because of me?”

 

“In my defense, you would have been dead too, so I truly didn’t think you’d notice.”

 

“Stop it, Magnus. This isn’t a joke.”

 

“No, it is not a joke,” he says thinly as he takes a few measured steps closer to Alec. “When you did the track to save Jace, it was not a joke. When you jumped off that ship, it was not a joke. And the next time you do something stupidly heroic to save the life of Isabelle or Jace or some random old woman crossing the street, it will still _never be a joke_.”

 

“Or you,” he says, and the words slip from his mouth so quietly he’s not sure Magnus even heard them.

 

An assumption proven true when Magnus asks, “What?”

 

“Or you,” he repeats, louder this time, more forcefully, because this is something he wants Magnus to understand. _Needs_ him to understand.

 

“You think I’d only do that for my siblings or other Shadowhunters or _random old women_ , but that’s not… damn it, Magnus, _or you_.”

 

The last words are bit out helplessly, like he can’t figure out how to get his point across and he’s frustrated as hell because of it. An emotion that isn’t helped at all by the puzzled look in Magnus’ eyes.

 

“You matter to me,” he says as he raises his hands in something like surrender. “And I’ll be damned if I know how the hell that happened, how the hell it happened _so fast_ , but when she told me… when she told me what you did? When I thought about _you dying_? I can’t… I need you to promise me that you’ll never do that again.”

 

“Only if you make the same promise,” he says, and Alec…

 

Alec is done. Done fighting. Done being angry. Done trying to talk sense into Magnus because _sense_ has nothing to do with this. With love. Love is a senseless mass of freaking nonsense and Alec is too tired to fight it right now.

 

So he asks, “Can you please turn around?” because he’s got something to say and he needs to make damn sure his head is on straight enough to say it.

 

“Excuse me?”

 

“Just… just turn around? Please?”

 

“Alec, I’m not sure why you need me to-”

 

“Because when I look at you I can’t think straight, okay?” he barks out helplessly. And Magnus gives him this really funny look that’s also sort of incredibly endearing and Alec just needs to not be looking at him right now.

 

So he closes the remaining distance between them, places his hands on Magnus’ shoulders and turns him around himself because his patience is already threadbare today.

 

“This is ridiculous, Alexander,” Magnus says, and Alec can’t help but agree with him. But he also doesn’t really care about how ridiculous he seems right now.

 

“Yeah, well, this is what you signed up for. Get used to it,” he replies before retreating a few steps, far enough away so that Magnus is no longer within arm’s reach.

 

“I need you to know something, Magnus. I need you to know that I’m not doing this because I’m grateful or because I think I owe you. I’m just… I just really need you to know that it has nothing to do with that. Nothing directly, anyway. Okay? Can you… like… know that?”

 

“Alec, what are you talking about?”

 

There’s an air bubble in his chest right now, one that pops wide open when he asks, “Can I kiss you?”

 

The way Magnus’ shoulders tense does something funny to Alec’s insides.

 

“I mean can I kiss you and can you just know that it’s not because I’m trying to pay off some debt but it’s just because I want to?” he continues because why not, right? He’s already in neck deep, might as well go the rest of the way.

 

“Because I’ve wanted to from the moment I met you and it’s just a coincidence that it’s happening a week after you almost died for me? Twice?”

 

Magnus turns his head so that he can see Alec out of his periphery, but he hasn’t started turning his body yet, which means Alec still has time to get this out before he totally loses his nerve.

 

“Can I do that or do I have to wait, like, a certain amount of time or take you on a certain amount of dates first? Because I’ll do that if I have to… hell, I’ll do all that because I _want to_ , but I’d also really just like to kiss you right now too if that’s okay and-”

 

The last dozen or so words spill out of his mouth in rapid succession, racing to get out as Magnus finally turns around and moves towards him. But whatever else he was going to say gets swallowed up in Magnus’ lips when he grabs Alec’s t-shirt and hauls him down into a kiss.

It’s the first time Magnus has done that, has kissed him first. Only something tickles in Alec’s memory at that thought, like maybe it’s not actually the first time after all even though they’ve only kissed three times and he’s pretty sure he was the one who initiated all of them.  

 

That’s not important right now, of course. All that is important is the way Magnus’ hands feel as they loosen out of the fabric of his shirt so they can skate along the sides of Alec’s neck, rest over his pulse like on the balcony. And he can feel it already, the power in Magnus’ veins, the need in his own, and the muddled mess that comes along with Magnus every time he’s close enough to touch.

 

“Can I… can I see them?” he asks when the kiss is broken and he’s finally able to breathe again. But Magnus just stares up at him with the same look of confusion he bears every time Alec tries to explain himself with words instead of actions.

 

Words are not his specialty.

 

“Your eyes,” he says, keeping it as simple as he possibly can. “Can I see your eyes? I want… I want to see you, Magnus. _All_ of you.”

He nods lightly and trails a thumb over Alec’s lips before he allows the yellow to seep in, blending out from the iris until it’s Magnus looking up at him. Just Magnus. _All_ Magnus.

 

He grabs Magnus’ face as something swells in his chest so hard and fast it steals his breath. His words a muttered jumble as he says, “Beautiful… You’re… you’re so fucking _beautiful_ ,” because he is.

 

He really, _really_ is.

 

He kisses Magnus’ eyelids at that, one at a time, slow and gentle. And when Magnus trails his fingers over his lips again, Alec reaches down out of instinct alone, grabbing his wrist so he can hold his hand in place.

 

He pulls each one of Magnus’ fingers into his mouth in turn, his eyes locked on Magnus’, wide open and bare. And he’s really glad he didn’t do this on the boat because judging by the look on Magnus’ face, he probably would’ve crashed the damn thing if Alec had pulled this stunt then. And judging by the heat pooling in Alec’s stomach, he probably wouldn’t have cared.

 

His insides are shaking, and he’s pretty sure he has no freaking clue what he’s doing here. But every time his body tells him to do something he just goes with it, listening to his instincts instead of his head because his head is basically just one giant buzzing sound anyway right now. Like the din of a hundred people screaming at once, trying to be heard over one another.

 

The next instinct is the boldest one yet. The one that tells him to walk Magnus backwards towards his bed, that tells him to _push_. And as he looks down at Magnus moving himself up the bed, their eyes never once losing track of each other’s, he freezes.

 

He’s not sure how long he’s been staring at Magnus, laid out in front of him like some sort of offering, when Magnus asks, “Alec, are you okay?”

 

“Yeah,” he says with a slight shake of his head that does nothing to jar his thoughts loose. “I just want to remember this.”

 

And that’s true, he realizes that now. It’s like he’s drawing a picture in his head to have for safekeeping. But the sketch will never be as good as the original, and he’s got a lifetime to make more besides. And his stomach drops completely from his body at that.

 

At the simple word _lifetime_.

 

He takes his shirt off, watches as Magnus does the same, and crawls onto the bed, careful with how he places his weight like he’s worried he’s going to crush him, which is stupid. And which is also something Magnus completely bypasses by wrapping his arms around his waist and yanking him down until they’re practically molded together. And the shaky feeling returns instantly at that, sending tremors through his whole body as he tries to gulp in oxygen like he’s afraid it’s in short supply and his mind continues the hundred-person scream fest in the background.

 

The kiss calms him a little, but then Magnus’ hands are moving, running up the bare skin of his back, digging nails into his shoulder blades, and Alec needs to break away if only to keep himself from passing out.

 

“Alec,” Magnus says, the word breathed out like some sort of prayer sent straight up to heaven as he tips his head down and bends his back so he can rest his lips over Alec’s heart and it’s too much. Everything is just _too much_ as the noise in his head reaches an alarming peak.

 

He buries his head in Magnus’ neck, sucks a path downward, over his collarbone as his hands reach between them to get at Magnus’ pants. But he realizes pretty damn quickly that they’re apparently made out of some sort of medieval torture contraption.

 

“ _Magnus_ ,” he hisses, his words coming as little more than panted breaths between kisses. “Why… do your pants… have so many… buckles?”

 

“If I’d known this was how my day was going to turn out,” he replies just as breathlessly as Alec, “I would’ve worn leggings.”

 

His teeth sink into Magnus’ shoulder at that, way harder than is entirely polite. And the instant realization of how that’s certainly going to leave a mark ups his anxiety to previously unheard of levels.

 

“Ouch,” Magnus says, halfheartedly at best.

 

And Alec sounds completely helpless when he replies, “Sorry, but you can’t say stuff like that. It puts… puts pictures in my head.”

 

“If you’d like, I could put those pictures in your sight next time we’re together,” he says, his voice so liquid it makes Alec’s throat feel like it’s closing up entirely. “It’s really not that much of a bother. I have an entire rack of them that I could-”

 

Alec kisses him because he’s pretty sure he’s going to have a full on nervous breakdown if Magnus doesn’t shut up right now.

 

He’s in over his head. He can see that now, plain as freaking day. He’s got _no idea_ what he’s doing, no way of even knowing if what he’s doing is right or good or _anything._ And the weight of those thoughts is crushing him.

What if he’s terrible at this? What if… what if he can’t even get Magnus’ stupid thousand buckle pants undone? And that’s what he chooses to settle on – the pants. Like he thinks that maybe if he can just accomplish that one small goal, then he’ll be all right.

 

As if in response to his panicked thoughts, Magnus flicks his wrist and the buckles are just _gone_. But even as he breathes a silent _thank you_ that might also be audible as well, he really can’t tell, a whole new series of problems present themselves.

 

He drags Magnus’ pants down his legs, hypnotized by so much exposed skin. And it’s just his legs, and furthermore it’s not like Alec hasn’t seen bare legs before. But it’s like he’s stuck back in the 1800s and the sight of Magnus’ bare ankles is enough to scandalize him right out of his mind.

 

Something’s building. Has been building ever since Magnus kissed him. Hell, ever since the first time Magnus _touched him_ , their hands clasped before that demon spell it’s all just been _building_ and now that Alec doesn’t have anything else to focus on apart from _this_ , he is, to put it plainly, freaking the hell out.

 

He wants… _he wants_. So much… so, so, so _much._ And it’s here. It’s all right here, for him, and he doesn’t know… he just doesn’t _know_.

 

Once Magnus’ pants are on the floor he collapses back on top of him, exhausted already, and he’s trying to figure out what to do next like he’s back in math class or something. Figuring out angles and how to turn his wrist properly as he rubs the front of Magnus’ boxers absently and tries to figure out how people actually do this.

 

If Magnus were on his lap, he thinks, this would be easy. An arm slipped around his waist, a hand in the right position and heat surges through Alec’s body so fast at that thought he feels dizzy. Drunk. _Delirious._

 

Magnus is panting now, making these noises that just, like, _wreck_ any sense of sanity Alec still possesses as he raises his hips over and over to meet Alec’s uncoordinated touch. And he’s drowning again, like he was in the water, sinking down, down, _down_ , and just like last time, Magnus is there to save him.

 

“Alec, I can hear you thinking,” he says, his voice deep from the desire coating every inch of him. And how he can make his words still sound so clear and level at a time like this is astounding to Alec, given that he’s pretty sure if he tried to speak right now he’d throw up.

 

Magnus rolls him over at that, switches positions so that Alec doesn’t have to make any more decisions if he doesn’t want to and Alec would thank him if not for that whole vomit worry he’s got now on top of everything else.

 

“Stop,” Magnus whispers, his lips just shy of touching Alec’s, his breath warm in Alec’s mouth. But just when he thinks that maybe there’s a possibility he won’t come completely undone before this is all over, he feels Magnus’ fingers twist over the waist of his pants, his nails scraping against the soft, sensitive skin below his hips.

 

He can’t breathe, and he’s serious about that now. Not the good, _oh I’m looking at this hot guy and thinking about touching every inch of his body_ kind of can’t breathe, but the _I think I need a paper bag_ kind. And he’s gasping now, in a way that Magnus can clearly tell is off.

 

“Alec, are you all right?” he asks as concern begins to bleed through the haze of everything else.

 

“Yeah, it’s just… is there anything you can do to… any kind of magic that can…”

 

He waves his fingers in the air to try and explain what he’s talking about, how he’d very much like Magnus to give him some sort of magic juice right now to calm him the hell down. The words, “To calm... to take the edge...” slipping from his mouth in panicked beats as he thinks, _To help me breathe._

 

“Alec, we don’t have to do this,” Magnus says, and his voice is so tender it actually makes Alec whine.

 

“If you’re not ready, we don’t-”

 

He covers Magnus’ mouth with his whole hand, because there is absolutely no need for him to finish that sentence.

 

His own voice as strong and assured as he can make it when he says, “No I’m ready. I’m so, so, _so_ ready.”

 

His head pounds back into the bed with each utterance of the word _so._ And he needs to make Magnus understand, needs to make him see that it’s not _that_ , that it will probably never be that with him. But the words just aren’t coming.

 

“It’s just,” he says. “I’m just… You’re just…”

 

He takes a deep breath and risks opening his eyes so he can look at Magnus when he says, “You’re everything. You’re just… you’re _everything_. Everything I thought I’d never… thought I’d never _have_. And I just…”

 

Magnus shushes him then, trails his fingers gently through Alec’s hair and he can feel his chest loosen with the gesture, like warm water is being threaded through his veins. And it’s just a little, all that he asked for, which means he can still _feel_ everything, only now he has the ability to _think_ and it’s like the snapping of a rubber band to him.

 

When he kisses Magnus this time it’s so much better, so much looser, _freer_. But when Magnus starts to move down his body, for some reason he stops him.

 

“No,” he says as he holds tightly to Magnus’ shoulders. “Stay here. Stay… stay here with me. I want… want to see you. Okay? Is that… is that okay?”

 

He’s not sure if he’s making any sense, but regardless of that fact Magnus still nods at him, his touch gentle as he cups Alec’s face and looks down at him with so much love in his eyes and he sees that now. He recognizes it. _Love_. Because he can feel it inside of himself, can feel it tracing its way over his body like runes only every single one bears Magnus’ name.

 

He turns his face into Magnus’ palm, kisses the same lines he’d been studying on the boat. And the way Magnus’ eyes slip shut as a groan rumbles out of him makes Alec _want things_.

 

He wants _so many things._

 

Magnus is unbuckling his belt a second later, undoing his pants so he can push them and his boxers down his thighs. But he never leaves Alec’s sight, never stops kissing Alec’s lips, and it really is everything. Everything about Magnus is _everything._

When Magnus takes off his own boxers, Alec’s insides coil in anticipation. And it’s so simple, skin on skin and simple friction, but it feels like the only thing left in the world. Like every hope and dream and stupid childish fantasy he’s had rolled into one as Magnus moves his hips in time to the way Alec is thrusting right back.

 

This isn’t going to take long, he can tell that already. The little choking sounds he’s making into Magnus’ mouth are a dead giveaway of that fact. But the word _lifetime_ is still there, waiting in the wings, and so the fact that he comes quick and hard like a teenager doesn’t bother him as much as it would if he didn’t know he had him.

 

That he has Magnus just as much as Magnus has him.

 

Magnus isn’t far behind him, which makes him feel better about his own lack of stamina. And the way Magnus shudders on top of him, his sweat damp hair falling over his face as he buries it in Alec’s neck and cries out something that resembles Alec’s name, makes every single voice in Alec’s head shut up instantly.

 

His thoughts have never been this quiet before. And he wonders at the kind of magic Magnus has that’s got nothing to do with the demon blood coursing through his veins.

“You know, we still haven’t gone on our date yet,” Alec says what could be a minute or a day later, he’s lost all track of time.

 

Magnus is busy kissing the rune on his neck as they lie together, still entangled like neither one of them is in any hurry to do anything else.

 

It’s the Deflection rune, which Alec finds funny right now, given the way Magnus’ tongue is tracing every inch of it and given how this _thing_ between them started. How much of Alec’s life to this point has been about deflection and how Magnus somehow managed to break through that concrete wall like a wrecking ball in under a month flat.

 

“You’re right,” he hums into Alec’s skin. “We haven’t.”

 

“You free tonight?”

 

“As a matter of fact,” Magnus replies, his tone playful almost before it loses some of its heat. “Wait, what is today?”

 

Alec blinks up at his ceiling like he thinks there’s a calendar there. “Friday, I think?”

 

Magnus groans. Deeply. “I am sorry, but I have plans tonight.”

 

Alec shifts slightly so he can look down at where Magnus is still attached to his neck. “With who?”

 

He rolls his eyes when he looks up at Alec, like his life is just too bothersome to _bother_. His voice bearing the traces of that same emotion when he says, “Raphael. I promised that I would take him to dinner.”

 

Alec laughs, the roll of it coming from some place unexpected. “So Raphael gets a date before I do?”

 

“It is most certainly not a date. But it is a promise nonetheless. You could come along, though,” he says, perking up instantly at the idea. “We’re going out for Ethiopian. I’m sure he’d love to have you along. He’s just dying to hear all about shadow business. In fact, he told me recently that he is thinking of starting a blog. Like TMZ for the Shadow World.”

 

Alec drags his face up so he can kiss him, pressing a laugh into it that makes his fingers tingle.

 

“What was that for?” Magnus asks once Alec is good and done.

 

He shrugs. “For being you.”

 

“Well, if you’re going to kiss me like that every time I’m me, I fear we’ll never get any work done again.”

 

Alec trails his fingers through Magnus’ hair, pushing back the strands that seem intent on sticking to his forehead. “I’m okay with that if you are.”

 

Magnus kisses him this time, but he doesn’t bother asking why. Mostly because he doesn’t want to stop kissing him long enough to ask.

 

He thinks about what Catarina had said when he’s done, though. Magnus is back at the neck rune and Alec’s mind slips to Raphael. And he thinks absently how that’s something he should ask about when the time is right.

 

There is so much he doesn’t know about Magnus, but of course there would be with someone who’s lived so long. He wants to know, though. Wants to know every single thing about him, light and dark, not out of fear or any sort of possessive sense of jealousy but simply because he deserves to be known.

 

Magnus deserves to be seen the way he sees Alec, the way he’s _seen_ Alec seemingly from day one. He deserves someone who will hear his stories and hold them dear simply because he is the main character in them. And Alec is pretty sure that he would listen to every single one, even if Magnus wanted to tell them all in haikus, because that’s just the kind of person Magnus is.

 

And Alec hates haikus.

 

“Thank you,” he says eventually because he’s pretty sure those words could never be spoken enough when Magnus is the one they’re spoken to.

 

He’s laying on Alec’s chest now, his ear directly over Alec’s heart while Alec traces lazy shapes in the small of his back with one hand and holds on for dear life with the other.

 

“For what?”

 

“For whatever happened in here,” he says. “In my head. I’m sorry if there was anything… anything that might have made you feel… I don’t know… different?”

 

“Well, now that you’ve mentioned it, there was one thing,” Magnus says, and the panic of earlier threatens to press through his chest as Magnus rolls over so that he’s facing Alec now, his head still pillowed over Alec’s heart.

 

“Oh no, what did I do?”

 

“ _Titus Andronicus_?”

 

Magnus smiles when he says the words, and Alec knows what they mean. He’s just not entirely sure why he would’ve admitted something like that to Magnus.

 

“You are a very disturbed individual, Lightwood,” he says with a laugh that presses warm water through his veins just as effectively as Magnus’ magic had done earlier.

 

“Yeah, well, you’re the one dating me, Bane. What does that say about you?”

 

“That as in everything else I have impeccable taste.”

 

He leans up to kiss Alec at that, something chaste almost, all softness and familiarity. And he knows it’s probably going to ruin the moment entirely, but he still can’t help the words that come out of his mouth next.

 

“It’s going to get bad, isn’t it?” he asks, the memory of the demons on the ship fresh in his mind as he thinks of how that was just the beginning of something much deeper, something far more terrifying.

 

Magnus looks sad when he traces his fingers over Alec’s face.

 

“That is the likeliest outcome.”

 

Alec shifts so that he’s sitting up more, his hands tight as they grip Magnus’ biceps like he thinks if he holds on tight enough here, then nothing bad will be able to happen out there.

 

“But you’ve gotten through stuff like this before, right? You’ve survived worse?”

 

“Too many times to recount.”

 

“That’s good,” he says with a nod that almost makes him feel slightly better. “Because I wouldn’t be able to... if anything were to happen to you-”

 

Magnus kisses him then, shoves the words right back to the corner of his mind where they belong, locked up safely out of sight. And his voice is so soft but still so _certain_ that Alec actually believes him when he says, “We are not fighting a war today, Alexander. But we will be ready when it comes. And I will be by your side through every moment of it.”

 

 _Every moment of it_ , Alec thinks.

 

That sounds an awful lot like a lifetime.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you guys so much for coming along on this ride with me! I've had an absolute BLAST! And though this is my first Shadowhunters fic, it will definitely not be my last. I'm working on some ideas for another story in this verse, but if anyone wants to give me prompt ideas, either here or over on Tumblr (I'm baneismyexistence over there), I'd more than welcome them. Peace out my lovelies!


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